Hero
by Contract with a K
Summary: Lex Luthor is finally going to pay for his crimes, all thanks to a mild mannered reporter. Superboy's job is easy enough: keep the man who put Luthor in prison safe from Luthor's wrath. There's just one thing no one's told Conner. A coming of age story from the AnonMeme.
1. Luthor Dethroned

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Summary: **Lex Luthor is in prison, and Superboy is given a mission to protect the man who put him there: Clark Kent. But what Conner doesn't know... (Part V of Masks, from the Anon Meme).

**Author's Notes:** This is the final installment of Masks. As you'll see, it sort of got away from me, but I love how it came out. I hope you will too. I do suggest, if you haven't already that you read, at a minimum, my stories_ Red and Green_ and _Present_, both of which are available on my profile. This story diverges quite a lot form canon and follows those stories. The events of _Red and Green_ are particularly important (_Present _explains how Conner and M'gann got together and why Conner's name isn't Conner Kent in this storyverse. It also has some character development, but it's not as crucial as _Red and Green. _I'd still suggest you read it). _  
_

With regards to the show, this episode takes as canon the episodes before the first trip to Bialya, and parts of that particular episode, but not all of it.

This is an edit/cross-post, so please bear in mind that this story started a really long time ago (May of 2011), so a lot of it differs from canon. But, on the plus side, you have no need to fear that this might become a dead fic, because I've already finished it.

* * *

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 1: ****Luthor Dethroned**

* * *

Robin rides the R-Cycle at top speed right through the zeta-beam port, which Batman has told him not to do about a hundred times. He jumps off the bike and runs into the TV room. "Turn on MNN! Turn on MNN!"

They're watching an old Godzilla movie, and Wally protests. "Metropolis News Network, really Rob?"

But Robin takes a remote from his utility belt and switches the channel to MNN over Wally's protests, but Wally shuts up as soon as he sees the news. Lex Luthor's scowling face is plastered across the screen and Conner flinches back reflexively. A female newsanchor is providing commentary: "Lex Luthor has been arrested…"

Whatever she says that follows is a blur to Conner, he can no longer pay attention to her words, rather he's fixated on seeing the scene unfold. The image zooms out, Luthor is wearing a perfectly tailored suit, but his tie is ruffled. His hands are tied behind his back and two police men are escorting him from the entrance to LexCorpTower to a police car. Police tape lines the path to the car, and people are crowded along it. They have microphones and cameras—lights are flashing. A mousy-looking man with glasses pushes a voice recorder in Luthor's face, over the police tape: "Comment, Mr. Luthor?" he asks with deep civility.

Luthor looks up, his eyes meet with the blue eyes behind the glasses, "You," he snarls, and his face turns into something so vehemently ugly that Conner finds himself trying to sink into the couch. Then Luthor manages to break free from the police and lunges towards the man in the glasses, going over the tape, into the crowd, and knocking him into the ground. Rage flashes across the face, and something about that look clashes with the glasses. The man pushes Luthor off him and gets up. Before the police can get Luthor, he tries to lunge again, so the man in the glasses punches Luthor in the jaw, making Luthor fall to the ground. Luthor doesn't get up right away and the police rush to see that he's ok. He seems to be mostly, ok, aside from a split lip and a dislocated jaw. One of the officers looks at the man with the glasses, who raises his hands and says "You saw it officers, self defense." The cop smiles and nods. Luthor's eyes are dazed, and the trip to the car continues without incident. A red-headed young boy with a camera turns to the man who just punched Luthor, "Wow CK, that's quite a right hook you got there."

"Oh," CK blinks. "I guess I've been working out… Don't know my own strength."

"And Smallville, Luthor makes you angry," a gorgeous woman pokes CK/Smallville with her pencil.

CK/Smallville scowls almost imperceptibly, then smiles, "I guess."

"Yeah, well, don't smile at me. I'm still mad."

Robin giggles his creepy little laugh. "Someone's going to be in the doghouse. Plus, I know someone else who's not going to be all that happy with that stunt you just pulled."

Conner doesn't know what Robin's talking about. But he does know this: whoever this CK/Smallville guy is, he likes him.

Once the broadcast starts to get boring, Artemis interrupts, "But I thought Luthor was untouchable?"

Robin smirks. "I come bearing gifts."

He runs out, heading towards his bike. When he comes back, he's carrying a stack of newspapers.

"Dude," Wally starts skeptically, "Weren't you just telling me about how paper is dead?"

Robin smirks and hands a paper to Wally. "I thought this would make a better souvenir."

Robin passes the papers out, he hands the last one to Conner. It's the Daily Planet. Written in big black letters, the headline screams: "Luthor Dethroned," and then, below that in just slightly smaller letters: "Luthor Funds Terrorism, Engages in Foreign Corruption, Behind Attempted Wayne Assassination, Among Other Crimes." There's a big picture of Luthor being standing in front of the Metropolis skyline. The byline reads, "By Clark Kent" and suddenly it clicks: Conner knows who CK is. Clark Kent from Smallville; the woman must be Lois Lane—they wrote the biography on Jor-El that Artemis bought him for his birthday.

He's read that book over and over—the spine has almost fallen off. The tragic tale of a man, the greatest of his age, who foresaw calamity and was powerless to stop it, but who loved his son so much that he was willing to die to save him. Lane and Kent's words had ensorcelled him there. It had been the first book he'd ever owned, the first book he'd ever read, and the first book he'd ever devoured. By telling the tale of his lineage (and Conner likes to think that there was so much love in Jor-El and Lara's hearts that they would have loved him too, even if Superman can't), Kent and Lane taught him to love the written word.

Here again Kent's words ensorcel him. There isn't the same craft to the language, perhaps Lane shining by her absence, but what there is is a meticulously researched exposé of criminal activities. The article goes on for pages: it tells two stories. The one on the surface is that of Luthor: it chronicles the depravity of a man with too much power—all the power in the world in fact, congealed into little green pieces of paper and a little green rock. And then, beneath that, unwritten, is the story of Clark Kent, just a mild-mannered reporter, a David who took on Goliath. Conner can see the work that's gone into taking Luthor down—months, maybe even years of digging and digging. Kent has given all the evidence he's unearthed over to the police—that's why Luthor was arrested. That's why Luthor lunged at Kent so angrily. A shudder goes through Connor, because Kent must be the bravest person in the world; just a normal man, to take on the Master of Metropolis. Luthor could probably kill Superman, and Kent took him on without a mask or sobriquet.

Connor wonders if Kent knows what he's done to himself, because Connor is pretty sure that Luthor will stop at nothing to destroy him now, especially after the punch. And Kent, Kent isn't made of steel. A bullet to the head will put him right out.

Wally pulls him out of his reverie.

"So, like, how long do you think they'll put him away for?" Wally asks.

Robin laughs, a real laugh, and like Batman's laugh, it sends shivers up Conner's spine. "Wally, Luthor's going to be indicted on charges of funding terrorism. Batman's looked at Kent's evidence; it's so airtight not even the best defense lawyers from Harvard and Yale could possibly get Luthor off. Funding terrorism is treason—Luthor's going to get the chair. It'll take years—Luthor's lawyers are going to pull up all the stops, he'll exhaust every appeal, probably spend half his fortune trying to get the law changed, but the Supreme Court is pretty consistent: capital punishment is constitutional, and I don't think anyone is going to be too interested in changing that for Luthor."

"The chair?" Conner asks.

"The electric chair," Artemis answers darkly. "They're going to strap him into a chair and throw electricity into his brain until his heart stops beating. Or they'll inject him with poison, or something. He's going to die for this."

Ice forms in the pit of his stomach. Conner has a pretty good idea of what death is—he almost tasted it once, courtesy of Luthor, and he's not sure it's a fate he'd wish on anyone, not even someone like Luthor. But the other thing is, if Robin is right, then Luthor will know it. Luthor will know that at the end of the day, he's going to die, and that really means Luthor has nothing to lose. All of his fortune will be aimed at three things: first, delaying the inevitable; second, killing Superman; third, killing Kent. The third one is the only one where Luthor is highly likely to succeed.

Silently Conner decides he's not going to let that happen, and Conner appoints himself Clark Kent's de-facto body guard.

It takes Batman all of five minutes to figure out what Conner is doing. He's half-way to Metropolis (running, because it's faster and less destructive than bounding, and he still can't fly—maybe the people at Cadmus made him wrong and he never will) when he gets the call on his League communicator.

"Superboy, this is Batman."

"Yes?"

"Would you care to slow down for a second?" Conner has long ago gotten used to the fact that Batman has GPS tracers on every single one of them. He slows, then stops.

"I couldn't help but notice that you're running to Metropolis."

"Yes."

"You're going to protect Kent from Luthor." It's strange, because Conner is almost certain that Batman's voice has the same contempt for Kent as it does for Luthor.

"Yes."

"Has it occurred to you that Superman and Clark Kent are quite close, and Kent may not need your protection."

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"Yes." It's a little distressing how well Batman knows him.

"Come back to MountJustice—It'll take Luthor a few hours to put together a coherent attack plan on Kent, and in the meantime, Superman can take care of his mess."

Conner has half a mind to disobey Batman… but… Conner knows all too well that when Batman calls them back, it's usually for good reason, so he turns around and runs back to HappyHarbor.

Batman already has the others rounded up and is briefing them. Conner just takes a seat next to M'gann. Batman continues to speak.

"As such, the League has decided to dispatch the Young Justice team to protect Clark Kent and his parents, Jonathan and Martha. Miss Martian, Aqualad, Kid Flash, and Artemis, you four will take charge of the Kents. The League, via Superman, has already informed the Kents of your arrival. Martha Kent has insisted that you stay as their guests. M'gann and Artemis will share the guest room, while Kaldur and Wally will be in Kent's old bedroom."

Conner feels a pang of envy, because he'd like to see Clark Kent's old bedroom.

Batman continues: "You are to maintain your code names and masks at all times. The Kents are extremely nice people, but you are not to discuss personal matters. You are not to talk about yourselves or any of your teammates or any other members of the Justice League. You are also not to talk about Clark Kent or Lex Luthor.

"This is quite important.

"Robin will be with me, monitoring the underworld, Luthor's bank accounts, and the world economy.

"And Superboy will be protecting Clark Kent in Metropolis. Everyone but Superboy is dismissed."

Everyone gets up to go, though M'gann throws him an uncertain glance. He smiles reassuringly at her. When they're alone, Batman signals to Conner to get up. He leads him silently to the old conference room.

"Sit," Batman says plainly, sitting himself. Conner does as he's told. "I'm going to tell you everything that I can, but I can't tell you everything."

Conner nods.

"While Superman knows that a security detail has been attached to the Kents, he does not know who makes part of that detail. Nor does he know that Kent himself is being provided with a body guard. For once, Superman and I are in accord that Kent does not require any additional protection; however, Superman was not invited to the vote, the other Leaguers believing that he is too close to the problem, and I was outvoted.

"The only reason I have assented to have you guard Clark Kent is because you're the only one of your teammates who could take a bullet for him and be no worse for wear. However, I want to make it perfectly clear, I do not want you to put yourself in danger for the sake of Clark Kent.

"Try to keep a low profile. Eventually it will get out that you're following Kent. When Lois Lane finds out you're in Metropolis, she'll want to interview you. She's a tough cookie, but essentially honorable. The first thing you say to her is 'Hello Ms. Lane, my name is Superboy, and everything I say is off the record.' She won't be able to quote you for a story then, but she can still use things you say to put other things together. You shouldn't tell her anything about the League or the Team. You should be especially careful not to divulge any information that might serve to identify who we are. Don't talk about Wally's love of science, or the fact that Artemis goes to private school, and nothing, and I mean, nothing about anything you might have seen in the Batcave. Superman… you can say anything you want about him; I don't care, but as always, use your best judgment; Superman is very well-loved in Metropolis, especially at the _Planet_.

"The last thing: I will be in regular contact with you and your teammates. If you need backup, don't hesitate to contact the League. You can always contact me. If I don't answer the League communicator, and it's an emergency of any sort you can call this number." At this, Batman slides him a small card with the number 555-264-3972 written on it. But Batman's gloved fingers never leave the card. "Memorize this number. Call, and I will answer unless it's not humanly possible. If you call when I'm fighting hand to hand or otherwise incapacitated, it will forward to someone you can trust—you remember the man at your party?"

Conner nods.

"Good. He's good in a pinch. More than once he's picked me up and kept me from bleeding out in a sewer." Batman takes the card away. "What's the number?" he asks.

"555-264-3972."

Batman smiles. "Good boy. Go on out. Robin's going to help you with a disguise."

Conner nods again, and then he leaves. Robin is waiting for him outside.

"Why does Batman hate Mr. Kent?" Conner asks.

The grin that was plastered on Robin's face disappears. Robin sighs. "It's complicated. Batman doesn't hate Clark. He's just angry with him."

"For helping put Luthor behind bars?" Conner doesn't understand.

"No. For how he did it. Batman's a fan of the shadows. But anyway, it's not important. You know how Batman is… he knows how to hold a grudge, but he'll get over it as soon as the crazy hullaballoo blows over, or you know, at the next alien invasion, whichever come first. Come on; let's go get you ready to hide in plain sight."

**To be continued...  
**

**Author's Notes: **Reviews are wonderful.


	2. Conner in Metropolis

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Summary: **Lex Luthor is in prison, and Superboy is given a mission to protect the man who put him there: Clark Kent. But what Conner doesn't know... (Part V of Masks, from the Anon Meme).

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 2: ****Conner in Metropolis**

* * *

The next person to figure it out, like Batman predicted, is Lois Lane. On the third day he's in Metropolis, she marches up to him in the park, pushes down the newspaper he was looking through, and asks, "Ok bub, who are you, and why the hell have you been following Smallville for the last three days?"

He blinks at her, then, just like Batman told him: "Hello Ms. Lane, my name is Superboy, and everything I say is off the record." Ms. Lane seems a little confused, like she really wasn't expecting this. While she's still off-guard, he pulls the biography of Jor-El that Artemis gave him for his birthday [1] out of his bag and a felt marker out of his belt and asks, "Could you please sign my book?"

Ms. Lane smiles. "Not if everything you say is off the record."

"Oh." He puts the book back in his bag.

She sits down next to him. "So, Superman's looking after Clark?"

Conner shrugs. "I don't know. The League sent me, but neither Mr. Kent nor Superman know."

"Your dad doesn't know that you're in Metropolis?"

"He's not my dad."

Ms. Lane doesn't answer for a while, then she says, "So, why is everything off the record?"

"Because Batman said."

"You do everything Batman says?"

Conner shrugs. "The last time I went against his wishes, Luthor pumped me full of kryptonite."[2]

"That was the red kryptonite incident where Superman threw Batman against a wall, right?"

"How did you—

"Superman told me. Off the record, but he told me. You know, it was a huge PR problem for him, and I needed to know the whole story to help him spin it, even if I couldn't exactly publish the fact that there's a little red rock that makes Superman act like a monster. You know I asked your mentor to—

"He's not my mentor either."

"Oh. But you are a sidekick?"

"The others don't like that word."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, but you are related, right?"

Conner shrugs. "We share some DNA, if that's what you mean."

"I see," Ms. Lane answers, and Conner really doesn't know if she does. "So, we don't often see you in Metropolis. Where do you go when you're not here?"

"Missions. Gotham, Central, Star, you know, where the other young heroes are based. Then, home, of course."

"And where would that be?"

"Rhode Island."

"That where your mom lives?"

"Haven't got a mom."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He shrugs again. "It's ok. A lot of my friends are missing parents too."

"Which ones?"

"Batman probably wouldn't want me to tell."

Ms. Lane frowns. "He's really got you wrapped around his finger, hasn't he?"

"Batman is a good friend, a kind mentor, and a great leader. He gave me some advice, and I think it'd be wise to follow it."

Ms. Lane chuckles, "Batman? Kind? Hard to imagine tall, dark and scary that way."

Conner smiles. "Yeah, Batman's scary. But he cares."

"I guess you can't run around a town like Gotham and not be scary. Though I think he's lightened up a bit since he got the kid."

"Robin's great too, but he's kind of scary in his own way."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean, Robin's biologically the youngest of us, you know, of the new generation of superheroes, but he's been at it the longest. I've only been on the scene for a little over two years. He's really smart too. I'm not that smart."

"Don't sell yourself short, kid. So, is it Batman who sent you to look over Smallville?"

Conner stays silent.

"No comment?"

Conner just smiles.

"Batman's trained you well. You know, I've interviewed him a couple of times. He saved my life once in Gotham. Scarecrow's fear toxin is nasty stuff. I finally hounded him into giving me an interview that day." Ms. Lane smiles proudly, "I was the first reporter ever to get an exclusive interview with Batman. Vicky Vale wanted to kill me." Then she frowns again, "But I didn't get anything interesting. The only reason we published the interview at all was just so we could say we were the first to speak with Batman. He talked about the crime statistics in Gotham, and how he felt like he could do some good in the world by taking up the mantle of the bat. Really, nothing interesting. But that's the problem with Gotham, people are paranoid because all of the crazies."

Conner smiles. "I know all about Batman's paranoia."

"Sounds like there's a story behind that."

"Oh yes. But not if you won't sign my book."

Ms. Lane laughs. "You know what, kid? I like you."

"Does that mean you'll sign my book?" he asks hopefully.

"Lemme look at it."

He hands it to her.

"Did you get this second-hand, or something? Because, you know, I don't get royalties that way."

"Oh, no. It was a gift for my birthday, but it was new then."

"How many times have you read it?"

"A lot."

"How come?"

"It's good."

"Yeah. So's _War and Peace _doesn't mean I've read it more than once. Heck, I haven't even read _Harry Potter_ more than once."

"Well…" he pauses. He doesn't know if he should tell her, but she's Lois Lane, and Batman said she was honorable, and she's friends with Clark Kent and Superman… "You know, there aren't a lot of ways for me to connect with… well, with Krypton…"

"Superman hasn't shown you the crystals in the Fortress, has he?"

"Ms. Lane, I've met Superman four times in my life. Twice he ran away from me, and… well, I haven't seen him since the Luthor incident."

She puts her hand on his head and ruffles his hair. "Stay out of trouble kid, and take care of Clark. Don't let Luthor get him before I can repay him for locking me out of a story." Then she gets up and leaves.

She's back the next day, however, with a pizza. "I didn't know what kind of pizza you liked, but I figured you can't go wrong with pepperoni. Unless you're a vegetarian… You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"No. And that, like everything else, is off the record."

"Sheesh kid. You've been hanging around the Bat too long, you're as paranoid as he is. But don't worry. I'm not here as a reporter. I'm here as a friend of Clark Kent. If you're protecting him, you're entitled to pizza. Even if he is a no-good-lousy rat."

Conner takes a slice of pizza. The cheese is hot and gooey and there are deep puddles of orange grease filling up the little crevices of the melted cheese. It's the kind of pizza that Wally would devour and Robin and Artemis wouldn't touch. "Mmmmm! he shouts out. "This is the best pizza I've ever had!"

"I know. Best pizza in the world comes from Arturo's, down the alley from the Planet building."

"Oh, wow, I have to bring W—Kid Flash here to eat this. He could eat five pies of this."

Ms. Lane raises an eyebrow. "He might die of a heart-attack if he did that."

Conner is about to respond that Kid Flash's metabolism could handle it, when it occurs to him that that might fit Batman's idea of TMI, so he's just quiet.

* * *

The next day, Mr. Kent gets a notice telling him his landlord's not renewing his lease and he has a month to find a new place to live. Conner overhears Mr. Kent talking about it with Mr. Olsen.

"You know CK, you can stay at my place, if you need to. I can't imagine you'll have an easy time finding an affordable place to stay. Luthor owns two thirds of the real estate in Metropolis."

"Thanks for the offer Jimmy, but I already talked about it with Mr. Wayne. He's letting me stay in his penthouse apartment atop the Wayne Enterprises tower."

"I didn't realize you were on such good terms with him."

"Oh… It's just, he's not a fan of Luthor."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"And besides, now that Luthor's behind bars, all of LexCorp's major customers are thinking of switching to Wayne Enterprises—he's swamped with business in Gotham. I don't think he'll be coming to Metropolis any time soon."

"CK, you've got to be the luckiest guy in the whole universe. You get evicted and a billionaire playboy lends you his bachelor pad penthouse." Suddenly Olsen's eyes go wide. "Omigosh Clark! This is the chance of a century. Think of the possibilities. This is amazing."

Mr. Kent chuckles. "Now Jimmy, Mr. Wayne is being kind enough to put me up—I don't think it'd be kind to repay him by throwing a wild party. Besides, I don't think I could pay to replace anything in that place. I swear, just walking on the carpet makes me anxious."

* * *

He follows Mr. Kent to the Wayne Enterprises tower and makes his way up the building across the street. He tries to keep track of Mr. Kent as he goes up by looking through the building—it's how he keeps an eye on him when he goes to work, but the elevator shafts are completely lined with lead. It's the same story with the penthouse, and when he tries to get a glimpse inside through a window, he realizes that despite the apartment's large luxurious windows, there's not a single angle from which he can look in. He jumps to the next building, and it's the same story, so he tries another, and then another, and then another, until finally, he's back where he's started. He sits there dumbfounded for a few minutes, until he watches the glass change so that it's completely opaque, and he has a feeling that the glass is now also (somehow) lined with lead. Apparently Ms. Lane was right. Everyone from Gotham is insanely paranoid, even the playboy billionaires. He's briefly wondering why Mr. Wayne could possibly want to hide from the world (and, really, from Superman) so desperately.

Fifteen minutes later it begins to rain.

"FM—

He gets a call on the League communicator, and wonders if Batman really cares enough (and is omniscient enough) to interrupt his almost-cussing. "How's everything going?" Batman asks.

"No sign of trouble," Superboy reports.

"Good. You can take the night off."

"But—

"Kent's staying at Wayne's Metropolis penthouse. Even if anything were able to get to him there, you wouldn't be able to find out in time to stop it."

"Why does Mr. Wayne have lead-lined walls?"

"Wayne and his ward, Richard Grayson, are often targeted by criminals. Not to mention paparazzi. A few years ago I carried out extensive security overhauls to all of Wayne's properties." That explained the paranoia—Bruce Wayne's paranoia was really Batman's—but it didn't explain why Batman had gone to the trouble. "Wayne's a major backer of the Justice League," Batman elaborated.

"Oh."

"There's nothing you can do for Kent while he's there. It's late. It's raining. Take the night off, get some sleep, or call M'gann."

"Can I go visit her at Smallville?"

"No. But she can come to Metropolis. You could go see a show together tomorrow evening."

"Oh." He's not quite sure why he's as disappointed as he is.

"Connor?"

"Yeah?"

"Get out of the rain, and take care of yourself."

"Ok, Batman."

* * *

Metropolis is strange in the rain. The sky is bright, though the moon and the stars are blocked by the rain clouds. The buildings here are tall—much taller than they are in HappyHarbor or Star or Central. They're just as tall in Gotham—maybe even taller—but Metropolis is missing the thick coating of grime. He wonders if Superman would be able to make Gotham sparkle like Metropolis does, or if it's the other way around and Batman's the only one strong enough to deal with the grit and grime in Gotham.

The Planet building, with its enormous illuminated globe, is a beautiful building. Looking at it makes Connor feel warm, almost like he's home. One day, he's going to take M'gann there for a picnic at dusk. Maybe for her birthday. After he turns 21. That way, they can have wine without Batman frowning at them. And, he figures, he'll probably be able to fly by the time he's 21, if he's ever able to fly at all.

Sometime around midnight he winds up at Arturo's, the pizza parlor Ms. Lane had mentioned. Batman told him to get some sleep, but he doesn't really need to sleep, and he does sort of want another slice of the pizza Ms. Lane gave him. He orders a slice of pepperoni—because you can't go wrong with pepperoni unless you're vegetarian, and he isn't. He takes out his wallet, but the guy behind the counter holds up his hand. "For Superman's son, it's on the house."

Connor's about to explain that he's not Superman's son, but then he thinks better of it. It's late, and even if he doesn't need to sleep, he's a little bit too tired and lonely to explain who and what he is to a random stranger, even if that random stranger makes the best pizza he's ever tasted. Instead, he just drops a fiver in the tip jar when the guy's not looking.

Connor sits down with his pizza and a coke and wolfs down the food. He's fiddling with a bendy straw when someone enthusiastically calls out "Superboy!"

He looks up and recognizes Jimmy Olsen, though he looks much younger up close. Without asking permission, Jimmy Olsen sits down across from Connor. "Wow. This is my lucky day—I've been begging Superman to let me meet you for years."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I guess he wants you to have your privacy."

"I guess."

"But I'm Superman's pal, you'd think he'd let me meet his sidekick."

"I'm not his sidekick. Besides, we don't like that word."

"Sidekick? Why not?"

"Because it's degrading. Are you Clark Kent's sidekick?"

"Of course not," Jimmy says with a smile. "I'm Lois's sidekick. As I figure it, it's cooler to be a sidekick than an intern, though I don't imagine being a sidekick pays any better—little intern humor.

"Gosh. You're so lucky. You know, I used to dream about being Superman's sidekick. I sorta still do. I saved him once, from Parasite, you know. Course, he's saved me a lot more often. He even gave me this cool signal watch, in case I was ever in trouble." Olsen pulls back his sleeve and shows him a simple wrist-watch with the El-crest. Suddenly, Connor doesn't think he likes Jimmy Olsen very much, and Connor has a feeling that if there were any red kryptonite around, Olsen's face would be flatter than a pancake.

"I've got to go," he says brusquely and gets up.

"Hey, wait, can I get a picture, not for the papers, just for me?"

"Sorry, got to go on official League business."

"You're going to go save the world? So cool!"

He doesn't answer. The minute he's outside, he starts running towards Smallville as fast as he can. Batman calls him once he's left the state. He almost doesn't answer, because he knows what Batman is going to say, but of course, he answers anyway.

"Superboy, how long will it take you to get to MountJustice?"

That wasn't what he was expecting. "Five minutes, why do you ask?"

"I'm doing some remodeling in the Cave, I need someone to help me move my giant dinosaur. I thought you might be able to help."

Connor knows what Batman's trying to do—get him away from Smallville. But… it's the Batcave, and the last time he was there was the best day of his (admittedly short) life.[3] So he answers "I'll be right there," with a smile on his face, even though he knows Batman's playing him like a fiddle.

He gets to MountJustice in four minutes—a new record for him, and one he'll have to tell KF about. Robin's already waiting for him, on the R-Cycle.

"Come on, get on," Robin says, waving for him to get on.

"Um, don't you have to knock me out or pat me down?"

"Nah, just get on."

"You know Batman doesn't like it when you ride the motorcycle through the zeta beam teleporters."

"You're invulnerable. Let me worry about that."

So they ride through the teleporter at top speed, and Connor finally knows why Robin does it all the time. He also knows why Batman tells Robin not to do that. It's exhilarating and terrifying.

When they get to the Cave, Batman's seated at the computer; but it looks like he was telling the truth. Batman is remodeling the Batcave. Things have been moved around and there are new glass cases scattered throughout the Cave with variations on Batman and Robin's costumes.

"Oh good, you're here!" Batman says getting up. "So, I was thinking, we could move the dinosaur ten feet to the left, and that would let me put Robin's original costume where the dinosaur is right now.

Robin's face goes white. "Omigod, no Batman, you can't do that to me! I thought I'd burnt that."

"It was fireproof. And also, I have spares."

Connor doesn't quite understand what's going on, until he sees the case right by the giant dinosaur he's supposed to move. Inside is a costume that bears a passing resemblance to the one that Robin is currently wearing… except, it's a lot more colorful. Like, a LOT more colorful. Also, it doesn't have any pants, just bright green, scaley underoos and matching green pixie boots. The red of the uniform is bright red and the cape is almost fluorescent.

"You used to wear that?" Connor can't help but snicker.

"Hey! I was nine! I was the only kid sidekick!"

Connor laughs. "Does Wally know?"

"If you tell him…" words seem to fail Robin.

Connor just laughs again. Robin crosses his arms and scowls, just like Batman. "Just remember, I know where Batman keeps the kryptonite."

"Ok. Ok," Connor puts his hands up. "I promise I won't tell." I'll just beg Batman to let me have my birthday party here again next year.

Batman interrupts, because he wants the dinosaur moved. Connor moves it, though it's tricky, because it's extremely heavy, and not exactly easy to balance, and if he were to drop it, it could squash someone, or another one of Batman's precious souvenirs. When it's finally done, the old man in the domino mask shows up with hot chocolate for the boys and earl grey for Batman. It's the best hot chocolate Connor's ever had, and he wonders if there's anything this masked man can't do brilliantly.

While they're drinking their hot beverages the masked man calmly begins to polish one of the exhibits, apparently completely unconcerned by the fact that it could crush him. Then he turns to the case with Robin's first costume. "Ah, Master Robin, I remember the first time you put this costume on." He looks around, "Though, Master Batman, I don't think I see your first costume."

"It fell into a volcano," Batman answers.

"Ah. I see. You should have asked me. I have spares."

This time it's Robin who snickers.

"Though," the man adds, "your _first_ first costume was just a black track suit and a ski mask. I might have that somewhere too."

Robin snorts. "A ski mask?"

Batman glares, but then the Batcomputer begins to beep.

"Killer Croc," Batman frowns. "Let's go."

It only takes Connor a second to realize that he isn't speaking just to Robin.

* * *

On the way back from fighting Killer Crock, Connor asks Batman what he thinks about Jimmy Olsen.

"He takes very flattering pictures of Superman," Batman answers coolly. "Why do you ask?"

"I bumped into him earlier tonight."

Batman clenches his jaw and doesn't say anything further.

* * *

**To be continued...  
**

**Author's Notes: ** I'd gone back and edited this a while back to get rid of all the references to Two-Face. Originally, it's the Giant Penny that Bruce needs Conner to move, but as I subsequently decided to use DA!Harvey Dent as a character, that had to be are wonderful.

**End Notes**

**[1]** & **[3]** - See events recounted in _Present_. **  
**

**[2] - **Read the full story in _Red and Green_.


	3. Mild Mannered Mr Kent

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Summary: **Lex Luthor is in prison, and Superboy is given a mission to protect the man who put him there: Clark Kent. But what Conner doesn't know... (Part V of Masks, from the Anon Meme).

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 3: ****Mild Mannered Mr. Kent**

* * *

Connor waits for Clark Kent to leave Wayne Enterprises from the Starbucks across the street. Mr. Kent stands awkwardly in front of the lobby, and a crappy red car drives up in front of him. Connor scans the car—no sign of bombs or other tampering. A man in a uniform gets out of the car and hands the keys to Mr. Kent, who takes them and gets in. Mr. Kent drives to the Planet and Superboy follows on foot.

He watches Mr. Kent park the car and go into the building and take the elevator upstairs. Conner keeps an eye on Mr. Kent from his perch, until around 11 a.m., when Jimmy Olsen breezes into the office.

"CK! You'll never guess who I bumped into last night?"

"Who?"

"Superboy. He was super cool, but we didn't get a chance to talk, he had to go save the world."

"What's Superboy doing in Metropolis?" Then Mr. Kent turns around, and if Connor didn't know any better, he'd say that Mr. Kent was looking straight at him through the wall. But then Mr. Kent turns around and goes back to work.

At lunch though, Ms. Lane comes up to him.

"You know, Smallville knows you're following him. Jimmy blew your cover. He was just so excited about meeting you he didn't even stop to think about why you might be in Metropolis. Maybe, you could join us for lunch?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, come on."

So he gets up and follows her to a little diner where Clark Kent and Jimmy Olsen are already sitting. The whole five minutes it takes to walk there stretch out into an eternity, which he fills with thoughts of what to say to Mr. Clark Kent when he finally gets to meet him.

Olsen waves enthusiastically and Mr. Kent sort of smiles awkwardly. Conner feels his stomach sink. He thinks he'd rather face Luthor again than find out that Mr. Kent doesn't like him either. Ms. Lane lets him sit down across the table from Mr. Kent, and then she slides in next to him. She hails over the waitress and quickly orders, "Turkey meatloaf, baked potato, no butter, no soup, salad, house dressing on the side, large diet coke, no ice."

Mr. Kent opens his mouth, but before he can order, Ms. Lane rattles off another order, "Chicken cob salad, dressing on the side, diet coke."

Olsen jumps in: "Tuna melt, sweet potato fries, sprite, with lemon."

Ms. Lane turns to him, "What'll you be having?"

He looks at the menu, nothing looks particularly appetizing. "I guess I'll have the BLT on wheat bread."

"Do you want salad or fries with that?" the waitress asks.

"Salad."

"And to drink?"

"Lemonade?"

"Perfect," the waitress smiles. "I'll bring that right over."

Once she leaves, Mr. Kent pouts. "I wanted a burger with fries and a milkshake."

"I know," Ms. Lane answers dourly. "I'm going to go wash my hands."

Mr. Kent frowns. "She's still mad at me."

"Well, you did lock her out of the story of the century, CK. But she's only doing it because she cares. You should really watch what you eat-we don't want you to have a heart attack like your dad did last year."

Mr. Kent just sighs. Then he looks up to face Connor.

Mr. Kent looks up, straight at Conner and pushes his glasses up. The man's eyes are impossibly blue, the kind of clear crystal that immediately inspires confidence. But there's something strange in the man's eyes, something that fills Conner's stomach with dread, so before Mr. Kent has the opportunity to open his mouth, Conner opens up his satchel and takes out his book on Jor-El and asks Mr. Kent for his autograph, offering the book and a pen across the table.

Mr. Kent looks down at the well-worn book, then back up to face him. "You want my autograph?"

"Please."

"Don't do it Kent," Ms. Lane interrupts, "everything he says is off the record."

Except, that when Mr. Lane says it, Conner realizes that it's not true. Batman told him to tell Ms. Lane that everything was off the record, but he said nothing about Mr. Kent.

"Why?" Mr. Kent asks.

"Batman's orders," he explains.

"No, why do you want my autograph?"

The answer that immediately comes to his mind is "Because you're awesome," but Conner stops himself from saying it. "Because you wrote my favorite book, and because you put Lex Luthor behind bars, and that's something neither Superman nor Batman could do."

"And why is this your favorite book?"

Conner shifts uncomfortably. It was one thing to explain to Ms. Lane in the park, but he doesn't want to say it out loud again, not in front of Jimmy Olsen, not to Mr. Kent. Batman told him Mr. Kent and Superman are good friends; he doesn't want to admit to Mr. Kent that Superman doesn't like him. It might give Mr. Kent the wrong impression.

"Because it's good," he answers, like he answered Ms. Lane at first.

Ms. Lane rolls her eyes and snatches the book away from Mr. Kent. "Sheesh Smallville, you want to scoop me on everything, don't you? Well it's not going to happen." She takes out a pen, and then she smiles. "So, to whom do I make it out?"

Conner knows where he's going with this. Ms. Lane is like Batman. He smiles back. "Superboy will be just fine, Ms. Lane."

"Of course." She scribbles out a note and hands the book to Mr. Kent who signs it and gives it back to him. Conner opens the book to read:

_Superboy,_

_I'll get that interview yet! _

_ Lois Lane_

And immediately below that, _Clark Kent_.

He smiles and puts the book away, but as soon as he does, an awkward silence falls on the table. Finally, it's Mr. Kent that breaks it: "You should have gotten the fries. The fries here are amazing."

"Don't listen to him kid—he's from Smallville. He wouldn't know good food if it bit him."

"That's not true!" Mr. Kent protests.

"Ok, there's only one way to resolve this," Conner says, and he hails over the waitress. "Could we get an order of fries for the table?"

"Sure thing, sweetie," she answers and scurries away.

When the food comes, he tries the French fries. Ms. Lane already likes him; Mr. Kent is just making up his mind, so he sides with Mr. Kent. "These are great!" he exclaims, pumping delight into his voice, even though the fries are only slightly better than the ones at the school cafeteria and still a little too greasy for his tastes.

"Told you so," Mr. Kent says proudly to Ms. Lane, but when he reaches for a fry, the woman slaps his hand away. "Ow! Lois!"

"Your father's a farmer and he had a heart attack last year. You sit at a desk all day and eat nothing but junk food. I don't even want to know what your cholesterol levels are like."

"Whatever, mother."

Conner can't help but snicker.

Lunch is awesome. Even Jimmy Olsen isn't that bad. He starts to talk about Superman, and how amazing it is that Superboy gets to hang out with Superman, but then he yelps and jumps and shuts up, and everything is fine from there. Ms. Lane is awesome. By the time the waitress comes along to offer them desert, Mr. Kent is smiling widely, and Connor's face almost hurts from grinning for so long.

Connor's about to say that he doesn't want dessert, but Mr. Kent says he's getting dessert and everyone else is too, on him. Connor looks over the offerings: they have like seven different kinds of pie, ice cream, fruit, waffles, and something called "Devil's food cake."

"What's devil's food cake?" he asks, because it sounds like the kind of thing a supervillain would eat.

"You don't know what devil's food cake is?" Jimmy asks, "Man have you been missing out. It's a moist, airy, rich chocolate cake. Here they put raspberry jam between the layers and they have a rich chocolate frosting."

"That sounds amazing," he says, "that's what I'm having."

Mr. Kent looks up, he looks a bit surprised. "The apple pie here is really good," he suggests.

Ms. Lane nods, "Yeah, all their pies are amazing. So's the devil's food though. I'm getting coffee and some cookie dough ice cream."

Jimmy nods. "Cherry pie for me."

So the waitress comes and takes their orders. It's not long before she scurries back. There's a ball of vanilla ice cream on his cake, which he hadn't been expecting, but he can't complain. Ms. Lane picks her ice cream up and plops it into her coffee. The minute the cake is in his mouth, he can't help but moan. It's amazing. Really incredibly good.

"This is so good!"

Mr. Kent raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, I have a friend who really likes it. You should try the pie though," he says, and pushes his plate onto Conner.

"That's ok," he answers, "I'm not really a big fan of apple pie."

"I'll take you up on the offer, CK," Jimmy says, and scoops up some of the pie. Mr. Kent looks a little scandalized, but then Ms. Lane goes back to talking about reality television, and it's all good.

Damn, that cake is delicious.

* * *

Mr. Kent picks up the tab. "I'm not paying rent, so it's only fair."

"I still can't believe Bruce friggin' Wayne is letting you stay in his apartment. The only way you could possibly get any luckier were if Superman let you stay at the Fortress of Solitude."

"Yeah Jimmy," Ms. Lane answers snidely, "Because there's nothing better than a commute from the North Pole."

Conner doesn't know what they're talking about, but it figures Superman would name his—whatever the Fortress of Solitude is—the Fortress of Solitude.

Once they're outside the dinner, Conner begins to awkwardly bid the trio goodbye, but Jimmy Olsen stops him. "Hey, if you're here looking after Clark, why don't you come with us into the Planet—it'd be a lot easier for you to protect him if you were in the building."

Ms. Lane nods, "Yeah, I doubt Perry would mind."

Mr. Kent shifts a bit uncomfortably before smiling and nodding, "Yeah, come on up."

Conner can't contain his excitement, "You mean I can see the Daily Planet newsroom?"

"Of course."

"So the aster!"

"What? Is that some new slang you kids are using these days?" Ms. Lane asks.

"No, at least, not any I've heard," Jimmy answers.

"No, it's the opposite of disaster," Mr. Kent clarifies.

"Yeah!" Conner nods, "how'd you know?"

Mr. Kent pushes his glasses back up. "What else would it be?"

"Robin will be so excited to know someone else thinks like him."

* * *

The Daily Planet newsroom is a thing of beauty. The sound of clicking keys and ringing phones is perhaps the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. People look up as they walk by, and they stare, but not for long.

Conner follows Mr. Kent to his desk, where a huge bunch of flowers is waiting.

"Secret admirer?" Conner asks.

"Not so secret," someone answers from behind.

It's a kid with black hair and impossibly expensive clothes. His hair is slicked back and everything about him sort of screams tool.

"Richard," Mr. Kent says slowly, "What are you doing in Metropolis?"

"School's out, and with Bruce in the boardroom from 7 in the morning until the early hours of the morning, the Manor's become a real drag. I talked Bruce into letting me come up to Metropolis with a few friends. You know, since you can party here without getting shanked. And since I was coming, Bruce asked me to bring you a little token of appreciation."

"Oh, you needn't have bothered. I was just doing my job."

"I know. And that's what I told the B-Man. Still, he wanted to send you a message. You know Bruce. Also, there's a card."

Richard takes a card from his pocket and hands it over to Mr. Kent, who reads it. Despite the fact that the card is supposed to be a thank you from Wayne, Mr. Kent doesn't look happy reading it.

"Well." Is all he says, before putting the card in a drawer and moving the flowers out of the way.

Then Richard catches a glimpse of Conner and smiles widely: "Hey Clark, is that your kid?"

"No, I haven't got any children," Mr. Kent answers tersely. "That's Superboy."

"Ah. I see. I see." And before Conner has a chance to process what's going on, the kid has hugged him and snapped a picture of the two together. "We'll laugh about this some day." And then he dashes out of the newsroom, like a little evil ninja.

"I take it that was Richard Grayson?"

"Indeed."

"Weird kid."

"You don't know the half of it." Kent picks up the flowers—they're enormous—and starts trying to move them off his desk.

"Can I help you with that?"

"Sure," Mr. Kent says, "I was just going to throw them out. I'm allergic."

"Oh, yeah, I can do that." He takes the flowers from Mr. Kent, and starts to make his way away from him, when he realizes it'd be a waste of flowers to just throw them away. There's no way he's going to regift the flowers to M'gann, she's too far away anyway, and he's stuck here, but he figures Ms. Lane would probably like them.

She does like them, and even if he's regifting the flowers Clark Kent was going to throw away, she appreciates the gesture.

"Ms. Lane," he asks, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How'd you become such a good reporter?"

"You know that little voice in the back of your head? The one that tells you something is a really bad idea and you probably shouldn't do it?"

"Yeah?"

"I usually ignore it."

"Sounds like a good way to get killed."

"Yep. But there are things in this world worth dying for. And a Pulitzer Prize is one of them. Besides, it helps that there's a big blue boyscout to catch you when terrorists cut the cable of the elevator you're hiding under."

"So you and Superman?"

"Just good friends."

He smiles. "And Mr. Kent?"

She laughs. It's not a pleasant laugh. "Me and Smallville?"

"You make a pretty good team."

"Yeah, so do Laurel and Hardy. Doesn't mean they should date one another. Besides, I'm pretty sure Clark's gay. I've never seen him with a woman, he's never talked about a girlfriend, and a few years ago, when we all got dosed with a crazy lust potion, I was throwing myself at him, and he wouldn't touch me."

"Maybe he just didn't want to take advantage of you?"

"Listen kid, Clark's handsome, clever, moderately famous, well groomed, and a perfect gentleman, and yet his last girlfriend was Lana Lang in high school? He's gotta be gay."

"I guess…" he answers, but he isn't convinced.

* * *

**To be continued...  
**

**Author's Notes: **Nothing much to add. Reviews are always welcome. I'll try to have a less stupid update schedule.


	4. Fruit from the Poisonous Tree

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Summary: **Lex Luthor is in prison, and Superboy is given a mission to protect the man who put him there: Clark Kent. But what Conner doesn't know... (Part V of Masks, from the Anon Meme).

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 4: Fruit of the Poisonous Tree**

* * *

Two days later, Mr. Kent gets a phone call. Luthor wants to talk to him, apparently. Mr. Kent wants to go alone, and really, Superboy wants to let him, but he can't, of course. Ms. Lane tags along too, because Clark's already scooped her once, she's not going to let him do it again.

* * *

Luthor is only allowed one visitor at a time, so Conner and Ms. Lane have to stay behind the one-way mirror while Mr. Kent goes in to talk to Mr. Luthor. Conner knows this is wrong. He knows Luthor is dangerous and he knows it's his job to protect Mr. Kent from danger. But Conner is also relieved, because he still has nightmares about Luthor and that little green rock, and he's not entirely sure he could stand to be in the same room with the man.

The orange jumpsuit and neck brace have done little to take the edge off of Luthor. He sits on the little folding chair like it's a throne and smiles coldly at Mr. Kent when he goes in. Smiles like he's not in prison, like Mr. Kent didn't put him there, like he didn't try to assault Mr. Kent, like Mr. Kent didn't dislocate his jaw.

Mr. Kent just sits down across the table, and for a few minutes that stretch out into a painful eternity, they just sit there in silence. Finally Luther asks simply, "I presume Ms. Lane is on the other side of the looking-glass?"

Mr. Kent nods noncommittally. Luthor turns to the mirror, to them, and he smiles and waves. "Hi Lois!" Conner knows Luthor doesn't know he's there too, but it looks like the man is looking at him, and he can't help but dig his super strong fingernails into his invulnerable flesh with so much force his knuckles turn white.

"I imagine she's still angry with you for locking her out of the story?"

Mr. Kent doesn't answer, but Luthor doesn't really wait for the answer anyway. "She should thank you. You've saved her from a magnificent libel suit."

"You can't be serious."

"Mr. Kent, have you ever known me to joke? You've published the most incredible lies about me."

"Everything I wrote is true, and you know it. The evidence is iron clad."

"The evidence?" Luthor chuckles. "Do you really think a jury of my peers will convict me on what you call evidence?"

"A jury of your peers? What would that be? The murdering scum of the earth?"

"Very funny. No, of course. The hardworking, law-abiding citizens of Metropolis.

"Did you know, Mr. Kent, that Lex Corp directly employs nearly nine thousand people in Metropolis? Lex Corp subsidiaries directly employ a hundred thousand citizens of Metropolis. If you consider the people indirectly employed thanks to Lex Corp: people who work for our suppliers and contractors, people in retail who sell things to our employees, that number goes into the millions. And let's not forget the taxes Lex Corp and I pay. We pay for a large chunk of the police, the fire department, the public education system. And let's not forget our charitable initiatives. You won't find a man or woman in Metropolis who doesn't know someone who works because of me or has a place to live because of me.

"It's quite easy to explain: Metropolis works because I do. Have you noticed that Metropolis's unemployment rate is less than half the national unemployment rate? It's because of the economy. And I am the motor that powers the economy. Do you know who John Galt is? I am John Galt.

"And you, Mr. Kent, are a looter. You and Brucie Wayne."

"I don't see what Mr. Wayne has to do with this," Mr. Kent answers, pushing his glasses up.

"Oh don't you?" Luthor smirks. "Well then. Let me explain. You publish a defamatory article that accuses me of horrible things. The next day, half of Lex Corp's clients are looking to move their business to Wayne Industries, Lex Corp's primary competitor, and it just so happens that you move into Wayne's penthouse apartment rent free? Right, because that's not suspicious, at ALL…

"You know, I always knew you had a price.

"Do you know what the unemployment rate is in Gotham? Hell, do you know what the crime rate is in Gotham? But what do you expect, when the city's major job creator is handled by an incompetent brat like Bruce? Wayne's a terrible business leader. He's smart enough, but he has no drive, no work ethic. He's never had to fight for anything. So, instead of making his company better, he decides to steal jobs from good, hardworking citizens of Metropolis by finding some patsy third-rate reporter at a yellow rag to take me out of the equation. Everyone knows Wayne Enterprises isn't nearly as profitable as it should be—personally, I think he's been embezzling funds for years. Maybe he's been using it to pay for all your encounters in Metropolis diners? I'm going to have people comb through every inch of that company's financials and that man's life. And I'm going to show to a jury of twelve that I am a paragon of capitalistic virtue, that Bruce Wayne wants to destroy me, and that if the jurors let him, they'll be opening the doors to turning Metropolis into the next Gotham."

Mr. Kent laughs. "Luthor, you know I can't be bought. You've tried to do it for years. And besides, what you've just said is all sophistry. You can't deny the facts?"

"Well, I never offered to let you suck me off, but that's beside the point. I'm not going to deny any facts. At least, not any facts that a jury will ever see."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Kent, do you know what fruit of the poisonous tree is?"

The answer comes unbidden to Superboy, and he recites it out loud in an involuntary monotone: "Fruit of the poisonous tree is a legal metaphor in the United States used to describe evidence that is obtained illegally. The logic of the terminology is that if the source of the evidence is tainted, then anything gained from it is as well. The doctrine is an extension of the exclusionary rule, which, subject to some exceptions, prevents evidence obtained in violation of the Fourth Amendment from being admitted in a criminal trial. Like the exclusionary rule, the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine is intended to deter police from using illegal means to obtain evidence."

Ms. Lane looks at him strangely for a second before going back to look at Mr. Kent and Luthor.

"I'm not a police officer."

"No. You're not. You also didn't get all of your information yourself. In fact, all the evidence that you got yourself is entirely circumstantial. There are a few bits, which I must admit, do not reflect well on me, but, the fact remains that those were obtained through an illegal search.

"You see, Mr. Kent, I know who your secret source was. It wasn't disgruntled Lex Corp employees. It wasn't a whistleblower. I know who he was—he's good, you know, at covering his tracks. But I've been in this game for a long, long time, and I'm good too. There are security elements in place at all Lex Corp facilities that no one knows about because I designed them all myself and installed them all myself.

"And see, my lawyers have this really interesting theory that your so-called informant really needed a warrant."

"And how do you figure that?"

"Because he's a member of the Justice League, and the Justice League has a UN Charter to which the United States has signed on, which makes them a criminal enforcement agency sanctioned by the federal government.

"So my lawyers are going to argue that that evidence is inadmissible. And since that's a question of law and not a question of fact, no jury will ever have to hear about it. And if the judge disagrees with us, we'll appeal—all the way to the Supreme Court, and between the Justices who love me, the Justices who hate the Justice League, and the ones who are card-carrying members of the ACLU, we're pretty confident we'll get a unanimous opinion in our favor.

"So all your admissible evidence is circumstantial and I'm the patron saint of Metropolis. And you know what else? There's no appeal from a not-guilty verdict. Double jeopardy is a beautiful doctrine, don't you think?"

Luthor laughs, and Conner doesn't know why people think the Joker's laugh is creepy, when Luthor's laugh sounds like that.

"Actually, Mr. Kent, you've done me a beautiful favor. Of course, that wasn't your intent. I'm still going to sue you and that rag you work for for every last cent you have. And then I'm going to come after Wayne with everything I have. That man won't be able to sneeze without me knowing it. And I'm going to put him out of business. I'm going to take over the company his father built, I'm going to take it apart, and I'm going to sell it for scrap."

* * *

Conner doesn't follow everything Luthor says. He does however see that when Mr. Kent leaves the room he's white as a sheet and his hands are trembling ever so slightly.

Ms. Lane fixes him with a glare: "Is he right?"

But Mr. Kent sort of ignores her. He's in a daze.

"Oh my God. It makes so much sense. You and Bruce Wayne! How did I not see it before?"

Mr. Kent isn't listening. He looks like he wants to cry. "He's going to be so angry."

"It's true isn't it? You're dating Bruce Wayne! I cannot believe you didn't tell me!'

Conner doesn't understand.

* * *

When they leave the jail, Mr. Kent is pale like a ghost, his crystal blue eyes unfocused; he can't keep his hands from trembling.

Ms. Lane is furious.

Neither of them is in any state to drive, so it's Connor who has to drive Mr. Kent's busted old car back to the Planet. Conner doesn't know if it'll make things worse, but he doesn't understand what's going on, and he knows it's important. So he asks, with the same sort of awkward humility of when he asked Batman about sex. Because Ms. Lane and Mr. Kent obviously both understand what's going on… something more than just the fact that Mr. Kent may or may not be sleeping with Mr. Wayne, something that has Luthor pleased, Mr. Kent terrified, and Ms. Lane incredibly pissed off.

"I don't understand," he says, "Robin said that Batman said the evidence was solid. My teammates said Luthor was going to get the death penalty."

Ms. Lane laughs, "Luthor was never going to get the death penalty. Money speaks, and Luthor has a lot of that. And as to the evidence, it may be ironclad, but it's only good if it's admissible, and apparently Luthor's convinced Kent here that some of it isn't. Who the hell is your source Kent that he needed a warrant?"

"The Justice League. Batman got the information, but Superman was the one that gave it to me."

Something doesn't make any sense to Conner. "Wait, if the evidence would be inadmissible, why would Batman give it to you?"

Kent sinks his hands into his jet black hair.

"Batman found it. Superman gave it to me."

Conner has to stop himself from clenching his fists too strongly on the steering wheel "Superman stole the information from Batman?"

"Superman wouldn't steal anything," Ms. Lane answers, but her voice is solid ice.

"The information, it was stored in the Justice League database."

Conner can empathize with the freeze in Ms. Lane's voice. "Let me guess. Batman found the evidence, shared it with the rest of the League because he figured this was something the League should know, and then Superman wanted to go straight to the cops with the information, but Batman said no." He understands now why Batman was so angry with Mr. Kent, though it's all Superman's fault.

"How'd you know?"

"Because this isn't the first time Superman's tried to rush to the chase with Luthor against Batman's better judgment." He pauses, "Hey, you guys know the Big Blue Boy Scout better than I do. Is he always this stupid, or just when Luthor's involved?"

Kent looks up and Conner can see his eyes in the rear-view mirror. "That's not fair Superboy."

"You're right; it's not fair. Not fair that since he has super strength and can fly Superman thinks he can do whatever he wants. Batman's the leader for a reason."

Two miles later, he opens his mouth again, "So, does this mean Luther gets to go free? You mean everyone will know what he's done, and he'll be free to keep doing it?"

Mr. Kent's eyes meet his in the rear-view mirror. "No. I'm going to fix it." And there's something in Mr. Kent's eyes, behind those thick glasses, that makes Conner believe it.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Author's Notes: **Nothing much to add. Reviews are always welcome. I'll try to have a less stupid update schedule.


	5. The Frigid Bastard from Gotham

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Summary: **Lex Luthor is in prison, and Superboy is given a mission to protect the man who put him there: Clark Kent. But what Conner doesn't know... (Part V of Masks, from the Anon Meme).

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 5: The Frigid Bastard from Gotham**

* * *

Fixing it apparently means spending the entire afternoon on the phone trying to get in touch with Bruce Wayne. When they get back Mr. Kent disappears to the men's room (Conner thinks it'd probably be safe to keep an x-ray lookout for Mr. Kent, but on the off chance the reporter is going to multitask, he decides to leave him his privacy and settles for eavesdropping with his super hearing). From the bathroom Mr. Kent tries to call Mr. Wayne—"Bruce? Bruce? Are you listening? Look, I know you're listening. Bruce? Come on Bruce… this is an emergency. I need to talk to you. Ok. Give me a call back, ok? I really need to talk. It's about Luthor."

Then he comes out of bathroom and heads for his desk. He picks the phone up and dials a number. Apparently this one goes straight to voice mail too. "Hello Bruce, it's Clark. Please call me when you get a chance? It's about Luthor." Then he dials another number and leaves another message. And another. And another. Conner doesn't know what's more impressive, that Mr. Wayne has so many numbers, or that Mr. Kent knows them all. Maybe Luthor and Ms. Lane are right about Mr. Kent and Mr. Wayne.

Finally someone answers. It's a woman with a sweet professional voice, "Bruce Wayne's office, please hold," and then classical music plays for fifteen minutes before she's back on the line. "Thank you for holding, how may I help you?"

"I need to speak with Bruce."

"Who is this?"

"Clark Kent."

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Kent, Mr. Wayne's in a meeting, did you have an interview scheduled?"

"No," Mr. Kent admits hesitantly, "but this is an emergency. I've already tried him at several other numbers and I've been getting voice mail."

"Oh, I'm not surprised. Mr. Wayne's been in meetings all day, and all day yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Pretty much since you broke the Luthor story. I'm afraid he's booked solid for the next month, but I'll transfer you to PR." Before Mr. Kent can object, he's been transferred, and the next person on the phone simply directs him to a press release on the Wayne Industries website.

Mr. Kent sighs in exasperation.

Ms. Lane walks over, like she's going to the water cooler. "Ok. So Luthor was wrong. You're not dating Bruce Wayne."

"What changed your mind?"

"You can't reach him. He's always reachable to certain people; if you meant something special to him, you'd be able to reach him. I remember when I dated him for a while a few years ago, and Alfred and the kid were always able to reach him. When things started to get serious he even gave me his special secret personal number, though of course he changed the number when we broke it off."

"How could I forget Alfred?"

Mr. Kent is back on the phone. After a few rings, Conner can hear an English voice that sounds familiar, even if he can't quite place it, "Wayne Manor, Alfred speaking."

"Alfred? It's Clark."

"Ah, Mr. Kent, I imagine you're calling for Master Bruce?"

"Alfred, I haven't been able to reach him. It's an emergency."

"What sort of emergency? Master Bruce has been exceedingly busy since this whole fiasco with Lexcorp started. It's been a boon to business, but it's been hampering Master Bruce's nighttime activities. He hasn't had an opportunity to make an appearance at the Iceberg Lounge in over a week."

"It's about Luthor."

"Is Mr. Luthor planning to jettison the earth into the sun?"

"No. But he has threatened to seriously investigate Wayne Industries' finances; he thinks Bruce is embezzling money, and he seems to be under the impression that Bruce and I are in a relationship."

At this last point, Alfred failed to suppress a laugh. "Oh dear. Poor Mr. Luthor has lost his mind now, has he? I will relay this information to Master Bruce and let him know that you desire to speak with him urgently; though I cannot tell you when he'll be able to call you back."

"Thank you Alfred."

"Good day."

Ms. Lane looks at Mr. Kent. "Ok, you're not dating Wayne. But something is going on. Did you actually take a bribe?"

"Will you stop paying attention to Luthor's psychotic theories?"

"When you start offering explanations that make more sense than the ones he's offered!"

"Bruce and I are just good friends."

"Yeah, right. The fact that you said that explicitly implies that you aren't just good friends. No one has ever said that when they were actually just good friends."

And Conner can't help but remember what Ms. Lane said about herself and Superman and wonder if she realizes what she's said.

* * *

It takes two hours before Mr. Wayne responds to Mr. Kent. He does it over Skpye, which is kind of odd, Conner thinks, but he thinks it's interesting to see this mysterious Mr. Wayne's face. He looks like he's probably handsome, but at the moment he has long dark circles under his eyes, his skin is papery, his hair lacks luster, and his clothes, which look very expensive, are wrinkled.

"Bruce, you look terrible."

"Thank you Kent, always the charmer yourself."

"Seriously, you look like you haven't slept in ages; you look worse than usual."

"And we're two for two. Lexcorp's been bleeding business. They all want to come over here. Frankly, I don't know if we have the capacity. I've been in meetings for 19 hours straight every day since you wrote that stupid article. What did you think was going to happen?"

"Not this."

"Then you didn't think this through."

"Stop—just stop berating me ok?"

"I have only fifteen minutes for lunch. What's going on with Luthor?"

So Mr. Kent explains the situation. When he's done, Mr. Wayne merely looks up, "Yeah? And what do you want me to do about it?"

"What do you mean, what do I want you to do about it?"

"Christ, Kent. I'm not a goddamn lawyer. I'll talk to Harvey. But I don't know what you want me to do. You could go to the DA and tell her you lied to her, and you could publicly recant the story. That would open you and the Planet to a massive libel suit and you'd never work again, not for a reputable paper."

"There has to be another way."

"I'll talk to Harvey. If anyone can figure out how to spin this, legally, it's him."

"You can't expect me to do nothing."

"Can you do anything? Can you make this better?"

"No."

"Then I think you've done enough for now. Wayne out."

Wayne leaves the teleconference.

Conner looks to Mr. Kent who looks defeated.

"Bruce Wayne's kind of an asshole, isn't he?"

Mr. Kent smiles. "You have no idea. But you shouldn't use language like that." Then Mr. Kent reaches for his hat and stands up. "I'm not going to get anything done here. I need to get out and think. I think I'm going to go for a drive. You wanna come?"

And the answer is that Conner doesn't have a choice. He has to protect Mr. Kent, and that means he has to follow him wherever he goes. But the truth is that yes, he does want to go.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Author's Notes: **Nothing much to add. Reviews are always welcome. I'll try to have a less stupid update schedule.


	6. Smallville

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Summary: **Lex Luthor is in prison, and Superboy is given a mission to protect the man who put him there: Clark Kent. But what Conner doesn't know... (Part V of Masks, from the Anon Meme).

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 6: Smallville**

* * *

They've been on the road for three hours, the crowded streets of the city had given way to a congested highway, and that in turn had given way to the open road. Mr. Kent's taken off his jacket and tie; the window's rolled down and Mr. Kent's left arm is hanging out. He looks amazingly relaxed, and Conner can't quite understand why driving has had that effect on Mr. Kent.

"Do you want me to take over driving?" he offers.

Mr. Kent smiles, "That's alright. You can drive if you want to, but I quite enjoy driving, so you don't have to."

"Really? You enjoy driving?"

"Yeah. It's a lot of fun."

"I guess."

Mr. Kent frowns. "You don't like it?"

"Well, I mean, what's the point of driving when you can fly?"

"Not everyone can fly, Superboy."

Conner grits his teeth. "Yeah. I know."

"I guess," Mr. Kent starts, "I guess I hadn't really thought about it. You're a city boy, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I guess. If you can call HappyHarbor a city."

Mr. Kent laughs. "Oh, believe me, Superboy, compared to Smallville, Kansas, HappyHarbor is a veritable metropolis. Cars are different in the countryside. I grew up on a farm in a tiny little town—more like a village, really. And I guess it wouldn't have been a problem if I could fly when I was sixteen, but I couldn't. In a place like Smallville, you need a car, or else you're stuck. School was ten miles away from where I lived, and there wasn't exactly a robust public transit network, so you needed someone to drive you.

"It was hard, you know, doing things like hanging out with your friends and going on dates when you needed your parents to come pick you up or drop you off. Especially if your parents were old, like mine. Don't get me wrong, my parents are great, but they were older than any of my friend's parents, and they were always in bed by ten."

"Ten o'clock curfew doesn't sound like fun," Conner said.

"Trust me Superboy, it wasn't. But then something magical happened in Smallville: you turned sixteen and suddenly you had a car! You could go places and do things! You could fool around with girls!" Mr. Kent smiled, and Conner had to wonder how Ms. Lane had managed to convince herself that Mr. Kent was gay.

"I guess I get it."

"And it was also great to learn how to drive from my Pa. Who taught you to drive, Batman?"

"No." Conner bites his lip. "This is off the record, but, um, I was, er, born knowing how to drive."

"I see." But of course, Conner doesn't really think Mr. Kent does.

* * *

They stop for dinner at a road-side diner. Mr. Kent orders the greasiest thing on the menu and a super-sized milkshake and rubs his hands in glee when he arrives.

"Ha! You aren't here to stop me Lois!" Mr. Kent declares and proceeds to take a big bite out of his burger.

Conner smiles. "Oh, you know you like it when she does that," he says, and Mr. Kent chokes on the burger and starts coughing.

* * *

They're still on the road when it starts to get dark.

"So, you know," Mr. Kent starts, "I've been thinking. I sort of really need a vacation, time to clear my head. I'm thinking of calling Perry tomorrow to tell him I'm taking some personal days and just driving to Smallville. Of course, I don't want to force you to come, so if you don't wanna come, I can turn the car around and we'll just go back."

Conner uses all his self-control to avoid jumping up and down. He counts to ten, and then calmly answers. "No, I don't mind. We can go to Smallville." But he doesn't have enough self-control to suppress the deep grin that stays on his face until they pull into a motel two hours later.

Mr. Kent takes care of the paperwork, pays for the room with his credit card, and then tells Conner he's going to go move the car to the parking spot by their room and call his parents. Conner realizes that he might as well go move the car with Mr. Kent (heck, it'd probably be easier for him to just move it himself), but he also understands that Mr. Kent wants and is entitled to privacy for his phone call. The call goes on for a while though, and Conner's eyes are drawn to the vending machine in the lobby. Unfortunately, he only has twenties in his wallet, so he goes up to the counter and asks the lady if she's got change for the machine.

She smiles and nods. And then she asks him, with a broad smile, "Hey kid, I noticed your daddy's not wearing a wedding ring." Conner's about to correct her, but he stops himself, because he sort of doesn't mind Mr. Kent being mistaken for his dad.

"Yeah, he and my mom broke up a few years ago, but he's finally back on his feet and dating a really nice lady," he lies because he's also sort of decided that he's going to get Mr. Kent together with Ms. Lane, and he can't have this pretty blonde lady messing up his plans.

"I figured he'd be taken," she says dejectedly. "All the good ones always are."

* * *

Wally's the first one to greet them when they arrive at the Kent farm—of course, Wally's the fastest. But M'gann isn't far behind—she flies into his arms and buries herself into him, and it isn't until he has his arms wrapped around her and his lips pressed to hers that he realizes just how much he missed her. Kaldur and Artemis are waiting for them at the porch sitting and sipping lemonade with an elderly couple; Conner assumes they must be the Kents. The woman gets up as they approach and waves to them, "Clark darling, what a pleasant surprise, and who is this young man?"

"Ma, Pa," Mr. Kent calls out, waving back happily, "this is Superboy."

Mrs. Kent frowns. "Superboy? Haven't you got a real name?" She turns to look at Mr. Kent, "Clark Kent—the boy does have a real name, right?"

"Of course Mrs. Kent," Superboy answers, "but it's a secret."

Mrs. Kent sits down looking a little upset. "A secret?"

"Of course, Ma," Mr. Kent the Younger answers, "all superheroes have secret identities."

"Oh. Well, I've made lemonade; do you want to join us for some?"

"Yes please," Conner answers, and both he and Mr. Kent sit down as Mrs. Kent pours them a glass.

"Kid Flash," she asks, "are you sure you aren't thirsty?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

* * *

They have lunch together in the back yard. Mrs. Kent is quite the cook and she's made a fantastic feast of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with cole slaw and fruit salad and apple pie so good even Conner has to ask for a second slice.

Mr. Kent's parents are amazingly warm people. Right off the bat, Mr. Kent's father tells him to call him Jonathan, and Mrs. Kent tells him to call him Ma. They tell Mr. Kent how delightful Kid Flash, Aqualad, M'gann, and Artemis have been, and they ask Mr. Kent how things are going at work. Apparently the whole town's abuzz with the news that Clark is responsible for putting Lex Luthor behind bars.

"The mayor's wife even told me he wants to give you the keys to the town, Clark," Jonathan says.

Mr. Kent laughs. "Keys to Smallville?"

"I guess it's not exactly the Keys to Metropolis, but you know, it means a lot to the people of this town that you're doing such great things."

Mr. Kent sighs. "Could we not talk about the whole Luthor thing, Pa?"

"Sure, if you don't want to, but, what's wrong?"

Mr. Kent shakes his head and looks up at the sky. "I… uh… I may have screwed up. I may have jumped the gun, and, it looks like Luthor's going to end up walking free, and possibly doing some really bad things."

Jonathan puts a hand on his son's shoulder, and it looks a little odd, shriveled and wrinkled against Mr. Kent's muscles, "Look, Clark, I know you, and I know that you're a good man, and smart. I don't know what Luthor's planning, but I know that you'll find a way to fix it—you always do."

Mr. Kent takes his father's hand and smiles, "Thanks Pa. I just wish that frigid bastard from Gotham wouldn't give me such a hard time of it."

Superboy laughs. "Yeah, that Mr. Wayne's a real jerk."

Martha drops the pitcher she was holding, her eyes are wide as they meet Mr. Kent's: "You mean, Bruce Wayne is…"

Mr. Kent sighs. "I guess there's no point in denying it."

"Oh. I did not expect that."

"Of course you didn't. He tries very hard."

Jonathan shifts uncomfortably, before declaring that he's going to grab a second slice of pie and asking if anyone else wants one. Mr. Kent perks up and puts his plate forward.

"Kid Flash," Martha starts, "Are you sure you don't want anything? You've barely touched your food. If you don't like it, I can make you eggs or a sandwich, or even cereal."

"No thanks, ma'am," Wally answers, "I'm really not that hungry."

Conner shoots Wally a look, because Wally is always hungry.

I'll tell you later, M'gann's voice rings in his head.

"Suit yourself," Martha answers.

* * *

The Kents are inside watching TV with M'gann. Apparently, Martha and Jonathan remember when all of M'gann's favorite shows first aired, and they have _Hello Megan! _on DVD.

The others are out in the backyard, and Conner finds Wally wolfing down energy bars.

"Why didn't you eat anything earlier?" he asks.

"Kid Idiot has convinced himself that sweet old Jonathan and Martha are serial killers," Artemis tells him.

"What? That's crazy!" Conner says.

"Duh."

"Actually, while I do not know whether Kid Flash's theory is ultimately correct, I do think he has perceived some interesting inconsistencies here—I believe Kid Flash is correct in his belief that the Kents are hiding something," Kaldur says. "Though not enough to turn down Martha Kent's apple pie, of course."

"What?"

"Hear me out," Wally pleads, "First, have you seen how old they are and how old Clark is? I'm not saying it's impossible, but it's statistically very improbably that Martha Kent would have had her first child at the age she would have supposedly have had Clark. Second: did you catch a glance of their wedding picture? Neither Martha nor Jonathan have black hair."

Artemis crosses his arms. "So? People don't always look like their parents."

"True enough, but black's a dominant gene. It's one thing for two parents with black hair to have a kid with blond hair—but it's impossible for two parents with light hair to have a kid with dark hair."

"We don't know anything about them. There's tons of things that could mean," Conner answers.

"Ok. More evidence: there aren't any pictures of Martha pregnant. There also aren't any pictures of a baby. There are pictures of Clark from the age of two through the age of ten, and then there aren't any more pictures until he's graduating from college, and honestly, who's to say that the ten year old kid and the 21 year old college grad are one and the same?"

"Really? That's your theory?" Conner can't quite believe it. "That's crazy! The Kents are like the nicest people I've ever met!"

"Exactly what I've been telling them all along," Artemis agreed.

"No, look, see, that's exactly it: they're too nice. I think they couldn't have kids, so they stole one. Then, when something happened to the kid, they replaced him with another one they stole. And now, look, they're trying to do the same thing to you, they've even got you wearing Clark's clothes!"

"Ok—nothing about that theory makes sense. I'm pulling the plug on your crazy conspiracy theory." Conner turns around and marches inside. "Sorry to interrupt the show, and please don't take this the wrong way, but Kid Flash and I are having an argument. Could you help us settle it?"

"Sure."

"Why are there no pictures of Mr. Kent from when he was between ten and twenty?"

Mr. Kent pushes his glasses up. "Oh. Well, there was unfortunately a, ehm, flood a few years ago that destroyed all the albums from those years."

Conner turns to Wally with a "See, I told you so."

"Wait!" Wally exclaims, not to be beaten. "How come Clark doesn't look like you? I mean—

Jonathan sighs. "Well, I guess it was going to come out eventually." He puts his hand on Mr. Kent's shoulder and looks him in the eyes: "Son, you were adopted."

Mr. Kent looks really shook up, and there's suddenly a look of horror on Artemis and Wally's faces, and Conner thinks it might be on his face too.

"You mean…" Mr. Kent's voice breaks, "You mean, I'm not really your son?"

"That doesn't mean we love you any less Clark." Mr. Kent folds his face into his hands and starts to sob.

Artemis elbows Wally in the gut.

"Oh my God!" Wally cries out, "I'm so sorry. I'm soo, sooo sorry. Um…"

Mr. Kent's shoulders are moving up and down violently, and Conner's the first to realize that he's not crying, he's laughing. He looks up with a big smile on his face.

"Come on guys, I know I'm adopted. My parents told me when I was a teenager. My birth parents died when I was just a baby, and my parents found me in the crash wreckage. But can I ask you guys not to go around spreading the info? It's just, my parents are my parents—genetics is irrelevant."

Artemis elbows Wally in the gut once more for good measure.

* * *

Conner can hear it from all the way in the living room: Mr. Kent stops Jonathan at the front door.

"Clark, I have to go—

"Dad, you had a heart attack last year. You shouldn't be doing these things anymore."

"Well, what am I supposed to do Clark? I can't afford to hire another farmhand."

Clark sighs. "Look, dad, we've been over this a thousand times."

This is an opportunity if ever he's seen one: Conner zips up to the front door and asks Jonathan what he has to do.

"I have to go move some hay," he explains. "It's already been packaged, but I need to move it into the barn and stack it."

"Why don't you let me do it?" Conner asks, "I have super-strength, you know. And I can ask M'gann to help me—she can move things telepathically."

Jonathan smiles. "I guess one of the best parts of getting old is that people wanna do your work for you."

"You're not old," Conner answers, and the old man ruffles his hair.

"Superboy, you're a good kid, and don't ever let anyone make you think otherwise. Why don't you go get M'gann, and I'll show you two what needs to be done."

It takes Jonathan ten minutes to explain everything, and it takes Conner and M'gann fifteen to get it done. She claps her hands free of imaginary dust and then looks up at Conner with a dazzling grin on her face. "You know," she says, "I don't think they'll expect us back for at least a couple of hours."

Conner nods, "Yeah. If we finished too fast, it might hurt Jonathan's pride."

"We wouldn't want that, now would we?"

And suddenly M'gann is wearing an elegant black dress suit and her hair is done up in a tight bun.

"Can you help me?" she asks. "My car broke down."

"Sure, ma'am, I'll take a look at it."

"Yes. I'm sure I have plenty of things you can take a look at."

Oh gods! How he's missed M'gann.

An hour later they're both panting and covered with sweat. M'gann's got straw in her hair, which is something new and hot, and makes him want to kiss her again, and again, and again.

But just as he's leaving a trail of kisses down here exposed green navel, he hears Clark Kent utter a word that makes him pause.

"No, Conner, don't stop," M'gann moans.

"Wait… I'll make it up to you, I promise, but I think Mr. Kent is calling Batman."

"Oh?"

"Shh. Lemme listen."

Mr. Kent is whispering, and he's far away—a sweep with X-ray vision shows him standing out in the middle of a corn field, with his hand pressed to his head, presumably holding a phone.

"Batman, I know I jumped the gun with the Luthor article… Yeah, but… Well, Luthor's a fucking bastard… And what's Dent saying? … Oh. That's not encouraging… No, she's not going to do that… Ok. And Wayne Enterprises?... Really, that bad?... But I thought it was a good sign when stock prices went up… a bubble… oh. The kids? Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that… That's a nasty trick you pulled… Kid Flash nearly figured the whole thing out… At first he thought my parents were serial killers… He wouldn't eat anything… Of course he's wrong…. Yeah, yeah… Flash can gloat about his sidekick all he wants but… look, I know I screwed up… Ok, ok, _Jesus_ I worse than screwed up. But that doesn't mean I'm not entitled to my privacy. How would you like it if he took a close look at your life?... Right. You had to bring that up, because you can't ever be wrong… Look, when I asked for League protection for my parents, I was thinking along the lines of Red Tornado or something, not a bunch of kids… And you know, for that matter, I don't need a body guard." Conner's stomach suddenly sinks. "Oh. League outvoted you? Isn't that convenient?... Right, like I'm going to believe that, you've been after me since day one… Oh. That's why? Yeah. Ok. I guess that makes sense… Don't be so smug. This is why no one likes you… What do you mean, what's he like? You know him much better than I do… Well, I guess he's pretty cool. My parents are crazy about him. Almost broke Ma's heart when he wouldn't tell her his name… Oh, yes, you've trained him very well… You know, he doesn't like apple pie?... Yeah, I know not everyone likes apple pie, but _I_ love apple pie… You know, I think he's gotten it into his head that there's something between me and Lois… No, you know, she thinks I'm gay, apparently, with, well with Bruce Wayne. That's not that funny… I am too secure in my sexuality… No, I don't need to get laid… Last time? That's not any of your business… No! I am not a virgin!... Are you even listening to yourself? How much sleep have you been getting?... Well, when was the last time you slept?... And he still lets you out of the house?... Oh. That doesn't sound good at all. I'll let you go, so you can get some rest… but, um, you know, for what it's worth, I am sorry. It's been pointed out that I'm not the most rational of people when it comes to Luthor… it's just, you know… I don't really hate people, but I hate _him_. Ok. Goodnight. And get some rest. Or else I'll have to get Diana to restrain you."

Conner feels like he's missed something important, but he's distracted by the things M'gann is doing and he's missing the other half of the conversation. "Hey, M'gann, you want to help me help Mr. Kent get laid?"

M'gann traces her fingers down his pecs, and down his abs, and down, down, down. She gets on top of him and presses herself into him and whispers in his ears, "Maybe we can play matchmaker tomorrow. Right now, I'm more concerned about you getting laid."

Conner flashes her a grin. "I can live with that."

Conner sleeps like the dead even though he's stuck on the floor—Wally called dibs on the bed. It's only the smell of chocolate chip pancakes and cinnamon buns that calls him back to the world and drags him down the stairs to the kitchen. Jonathan and Clark are already sitting, Artemis and Kaldur are setting the table, and M'gann is helping Martha with the cooking. Wally zips down the stairs and sits in the chair Conner had been planning to take, so Conner takes the one next to Jonathan instead. Artemis sits next to Wally, Kaldur next to her, and after they're done with the pancakes and cinnamon buns, Martha and M'gann sit too.

Martha asks Conner how he slept, and he can't complain. They start talking about how much he enjoys being back with his friends, although he quickly backtracks, because he doesn't want Mr. Kent to think he hasn't enjoyed his time at the Planet. Martha asks him if he has friends outside of the Justice League, and Conner tells her that of course he does, people from school like Marvin and Wendy, but that it isn't the same.

"No, I imagine it wouldn't be. But so you do go to school?"

"Yeah, of course, I mean, I guess not of course, but yeah. M'gann and I go to the same school."

"And you're still in high school?"

"Yeah, though we'll be graduating next June."

Martha smiles. "That means you're just about to start applying for colleges then."

Conner shrugs between bites of pancake. "Eh. Maybe."

Martha drops her fork and her smile. "What do you mean 'maybe'?"

"I honestly don't know if I want to go to college. And you know, if I'm not going to go, I'm not sure it's worth the effort to apply, just to make my classmates think I'm applying like they are."

"But why wouldn't you go to college?"

Conner shrugs again. "Seems like a waste of time. I mean, yeah, go spend four years drinking and quote-unquote, finding myself? I already know what I want to do, I don't exactly need a college degree to punch holes in brick walls. Doesn't really seem to make sense."

For the first time, Martha seems genuinely upset. She sends Mr. Kent a look, but Conner doesn't know what it means. Mr. Kent just pushes up his glasses. "So that's it, that's all you want in life: to be a superhero?"

Conner puts down his fork and knife. "Well, it is pretty much my purpose in life."

"So, no job, no family, no friends outside of the Justice League?"

"Why can't fighting bad guys be my job?"

"Because that would make you a mercenary."

"What? No! Look—I punch bad guys. I'm good at it. The Justice League gives me a stipend. I don't know if you've notice how I dress, I'm not exactly high maintenance."

Martha crosses her arms and glares at him, "And have you discussed your plans with an adult?"

"Yeah, actually. With Black Canary and Batman."

"Oh? And they're fine with you just throwing your future away?"

"I'm not throwing my future away! This is what I was made to do! There's nothing wrong with embracing your destiny."

"Your destiny, is that it? What does Black Canary say?"

"Like, whatever. She said it's my life."

"And Batman?"

"Batman says he thinks college is a tremendous waste of time. He dropped out and spent the time travelling the world and learning real things."

"Oh yeah, easy for Batman to drop out of college when he's—

"Mother," Mr. Kent interrupts.

Martha's icy glare fixes on her son. "And where the hell is Superman in all of this? What does Superman think of Superboy's plans?"

Conner folds his napkin. "Frankly ma'am, I don't know what Superman thinks of all of this. I doubt he has an opinion, but if he does, I don't give a damn about what it is."

"Mother…"

"No Clark, don't you dare 'Mother' me. What the hell is wrong with Superman that he lets Batman take charge of a boy that's his own damn spitting image?"

"Ma'am, Superman has nothing to do with me. Batman's a fine mentor."

"Oh, like fun he is. Clark, who the hell leaves a kid with Batman? The man's a psychopath who thinks there's nothing wrong with sending children after the mass-murdering scum of the Earth. And when he's not dressed like a giant rodent he's off—

Conner throws his napkin down and stands up. "You are way out of line lady!" And before he can say something he might regret, Conner runs out of the kitchen and out of the farm house.

It's not until hours later that Jonathan Kent finds Conner out in a field.

"There you are, son," the old man calls out from aboard his tractor.

Conner looks up at him and sighs. "I'm sorry I yelled at her."

Jonathan gets out of the tractor and sits down next to Conner. "You were right, you know, she was out of line."

"Yeah. I know. But I still shouldn't have yelled at her."

"Probably not. But you realize that. Just goes to show that I was right."

"About what?"

"About you being a good kid."

Conner smiles weakly. "Thanks. Sometimes I'm not so sure. Superman certainly doesn't think so."

Jonathan sighs. "I don't think you know what Superman thinks, but I thought you said you didn't care."

"I don't. Not anymore."

Jonathan puts his hand on Conner's shoulder, just like Conner's seen him do it with Mr. Kent. "Good. I told you Superboy, you're a good kid. And Superman's an idiot for not figuring it out the moment he laid eyes on you."

"Thanks, Jonathan."

"So, I take it you really respect Batman?"

"Yeah. But, you know. It's more than that." Conner sighs. He really doesn't know whether he should tell Jonathan this. "I'm not an idiot. Not really. I know Batman's not perfect. Sometimes, if you squint just right, you can see the cracks, and you realize how impossibly broken he is. But he holds it together, most of the time, and you know, that takes strength. Real strength, not the cheap parlor trick of being able to bench press the Titanic. And you know, I haven't got a father. People think Superman's my father. But he's not. I'm not going to lie to you, we're not not related. But I guess it's like your son said, genetics are irrelevant. You know, Martian Manhunter pretends to be my father during parent teacher conferences. I haven't got a father, and you know, Batman's not my father either—heck, I don't even think he's Robin's father—but he is the closest thing I have to a dad. He's the one who bails me out when I'm in deep trouble."

"Well. I've never met Batman. I've never even been to Gotham. But I can tell Batman's a great man."

"How?"

"Because, apparently he raised you, and anyone who's done such a fine job of parenting has to be a great man."

Conner smiles, this time strong and genuine. "You know, Batman did admit he didn't think he was the best person to talk to me about college. He said he had a really hard time making the argument for college because he hated it so much there, and because he dropped out, but he also said he was particularly maladjusted during that time and that he could afford to drop out. And you know, I think he knew from the time that he was eight that he was going to be Batman. He has a secret identity. I don't know what it is, but half the time I feel like he feels like that secret identity is a burden. Like he wishes he could be Batman all the time."

"He sounds like an incredibly driven person."

"Yeah he is."

"I'm sorry about what Martha said about him."

"It's ok. She doesn't know him. And he tries, you know, tries to get people to think he's crazy."

"Yes, but let me explain: I know it sounded like she was insulting Batman, but I think she was really just angry at Superman. I mean, even if he's not your father, or whatever, as a parent, especially as a parent who waited as long as Martha and I did and longed for a child as much as we did, it's painful to see other people ignore children.

"But the other thing is, Martha and I, we didn't go to college. Clark was the first person in our family to do that. And, you know, we're just so proud of him, of the things he does. He'd have done great things anyway, even if he didn't keep going to school. But he wouldn't be a reporter. It used to be you could live well without a degree. That's getting harder now, and I don't know if this is still how people feel, but when Martha and I were growing up, it was really something to go to college and get a degree, it was a pathway to a better future.

"But ultimately, Black Canary is right. The choice is yours. And I'm sure you'll make a good choice. But even if you make a mistake, you can always fix it. If you go to college and don't like it, you can drop out, like Batman did. Or, if later you decide you want to go back to school, you can do that too."

"Thanks Jonathan."

"No problem, son."

* * *

Back at the farm house, Martha greets Conner with sad eyes and thick hot chocolate.

"Clark said you liked chocolate."

Without a word, Conner takes the mug she offers him and holds it. It's not cold enough for hot chocolate, but it looks and smells impossibly good. Martha sits down and Conner follows suit. For a long time, neither of them says anything. Everyone else is in the living room, watching TV. Finally Conner looks up. "Look, I'm sorry."

Martha's eyes still sad, but strong meet his. "No, don't apologize. You did nothing wrong. Never apologize, unless you've done something wrong. Never apologize for being yourself or for standing up for your friends or for doing the right thing."

"I'm a guest in your house. I shouldn't have yelled."

"And I shouldn't have talked about things I can't understand."

Finally, Conner takes a sip of the hot chocolate. It isn't as good as he thought it would be. It's much, much better.

"This is really, really good," he tells her, and for the first time since he got back, she smiles.

"How'd you get so good at cooking?" he asks.

"My mother taught me, then practice." She frowns briefly. "I always liked to cook and bake. I worked in a restaurant in the city before I met Jonathan, but the farm was here, and the restaurants in Smallville… well. I took a job as a secretary in town to make ends meet. But then, after we'd been trying for a while every time we failed to conceive, every month when it became painfully obvious we'd failed again, I'd go on a cooking frenzy. And then, later, when we gave up, I had a lot of free time." She set her own mug down. "Jonathan and I, we're so, so incredibly lucky to have found Clark. Not a day goes by that I don't thank the Lord."

"I think the really lucky one is him—I mean, to end up with, not just with people who really wanted him, but with you guys."

Martha smiles and shakes her head. "No. Clark was always destined for greatness. He was always going to be special and good. He was a wonderful boy, and as an adult… Jonathan and I are so proud of the things he does, of how good he is." She sighs, "Now, if only he wouldn't be so stupid about certain things."

Conner can't help but smile. "About Ms. Lane, you mean?"

Martha grins. "So you noticed too?"

"Well, at first, I thought they were together, 'cuz you know, they work so well, and then, after I realized that wasn't the case, I thought they'd be really cute together. But if you know about it, he must have it really bad."

"You have no idea. He's absolutely crazy about her."

"So why doesn't he just ask her out for a date?"

Martha sighs. "Because." Then she adds, "Clark, Clark's gotten a few stupid ideas into his head. I understand, I do, I get that it's hard for him, but they're still stupid. With Lois it's all about Superman."

"Mr. Kent thinks Ms. Lane is in love with Superman."

"And how can a mild mannered reporter compete with the Man of Steel?"

Conner crosses his arms, "By not being a total and complete asshole."

Martha laughs, then catches herself. "Language, Superboy."

"You sound like Batman." Then he grins. "I think Ms. Lane likes Mr. Kent. She likes Superman too. But I think she's cordoned them both off as unattainable men. She's too smart to believe that Superman is really real, but, she's also gotten it into her head that Mr. Kent's gay."

Martha laughs.

Conner leans in and raises his hand between them to whisper (even though he knows no one else is listening, couldn't, because they're all in the living room and it's not like they have superhearing). "She thinks he's with Bruce Wayne."

Apparently, it's more than Martha can handle, because she starts laughing furiously and has to wipe her eyes. "Clark… Clark and… oh… oh dear Lord… that's patently ridiculous. Clark and that vapid..." Conner starts laughing with her. "Oh," she sighs and start laughing again, "oh God… that would be like… like Superman and Batman!" She breaks down into peals of laughter.

"Ewwww," Conner can't help but be disgusted at the idea of his mentor and his… whatever doing… ugh. "That's so wrong."

"I know. But that's great. I'm going to tease him about this endlessly. How'd she get an idea like _that_ into her head?"

Suddenly Conner stops laughing. "Luthor."

That kills the conversation.

* * *

They send message to Batman, asking if M'gann can accompany Conner to Metropolis—Conner adds that he wants to take M'gann out to dinner in the city.

The reply is immediate and telegraphic: "Dinner OK. Not to bodyguard Kent."

That's kind of odd, don't you think? M'gann asks Conner when he shows her the message.

Conner shrugs. There's something weird going on with Batman and Mr. Kent. Batman was the one who got some of the evidence Mr. Kent published against Luthor, and I don't think Batman wanted it published.

Why wouldn't Batman want to publish information that could help put Luthor in jail?

Conner shrugs. Some legal mumbo jumbo. Apparently, Luthor has a pretty good shot at getting Batman's evidence thrown out of court, something about warrants and the League's Charter. Mr. Kent seemed pretty worried about it after Luthor gloated about how he was going to get off, and Bruce Wayne seemed pretty upset about it too.

So, if Batman didn't want the information published, how did Mr. Kent get it?

Conner scowls. Superman stole it from Batman and gave it to Mr. Kent. You know how stupid Superman gets about Luther. Or maybe he's just stupid about everything. I wouldn't know.

M'gann frowns. So, what was it like seeing Luthor again?"

You know, the first time I saw him, he was wearing a business suit, and I remember, I thought to myself, 'This is just some puny bald human in a pansy suit, how bad could he be?' And then, of course, I found out just how bad he could be. Even though he was just some bald guy in a suit. And then, this time, he was just a bald guy in an orange jumpsuit and neck brace. He couldn't even see me, and I was terrified of him.

I'm the friggin' Superboy, and some guy in a suit makes my hair stand up. Do you think that's why Superman hates Luthor so much?

M'gann is silent, like she doesn't know what to say, or even what to think. Let's not talk about Superman, she suggests, and Conner nods. How are we going to get Clark and Lois Lane together?

By being deceitful and devious, he smiles.

You are getting really good at that, she smiles.

But, I only ever use my powers for good.

Mmm. So, what's the plan?

Well, since neither of us can hack into their email accounts to send Ms. Lane an invitation, I think we'll just take advantage of the fact that I can't go anywhere without Mr. Kent and that Ms. Lane will do anything for a headline.

Stealth double-date?

It's like you read my mind.

* * *

The bell rings about an hour and a half before dinner—Jonathan is on his way to open the door when Kaldur stops him: "Wait, it might be trouble, let Superboy check the door first." Jonathan stops and nods.

Conner looks past the door and sees who it is, "It's a woman. A pretty redhead, about Mr. Kent's age."

"Oh, that'll be Lana!" Martha exclaims happily.

Mr. Kent looks up, surprised. "You invited Lana?"

"Oh, yes, I thought, since you were in town, why not?"

"When?"

"Oh, just earlier; I emailed her."

"Oh."

"Why don't you go let her in?"

"Right," so he goes and opens the door. Conner keeps track of him through his x-ray vision, though, just in case. The woman on the other side of the door lights up when she sees Mr. Kent.

"Clark!" she exclaims, "I haven't seen you in ages."

Mr. Kent rubs the back of his head. "It's really good to see you Lana," he tells her, and then, a little awkwardly, he leans in to hug her.

"I brought apple pie," she says with a smile on her face and lifts up a bag to show Mr. Kent.

"My favorite," he smiles.

"I know."

Apparently, there's an unaccounted-for variable in our plan, Conner thinks to M'gann.

Lana?

Yeah.

"So, did my mom tell you how the Junior Justice League is here, on bodyguard duty?" Mr. Kent asks, as he leads Ms. Lang into the house.

"No," she answers.

"You know how I published an article about Lex Luthor, and now he's in jail?"

"Of course; you know I read everything you write."

"Superman is concerned that Luthor will target me or my family, so the Justice League has assigned Kid Flash, Miss Martian, Aqualad, Artemis, and Superboy to bodyguard duties."

"Superboy…"

Mr. Kent pushes back his glasses. "Yeah. I'll introduce you."

Mr. Kent and Ms. Lang appear in the living room. "Hi gang," Mr. Kent says, "This is my best friend, Lana Lang."

"Lana, this is Kid Flash," Clark introduces.

Wally gets up in a flash, trademark grin on his face. "Enchanté, babe-moiselle."

Mr. Kent sort of frowns, but Ms. Lang giggles, "Wow, you really are the fastest boy alive. Give me a call in ten years."

"I'll take it!" Wally grins and Artemis rolls her eyes.

Maybe we should work on Wally and Artemis after Clark, M'gann suggests.

I think if they haven't figured it out by now, they're probably pretty hopeless, Conner answers.

"Aqualad."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lang."

"Oh, please, call me Lana," Lana says.

"Artemis, and M'gann, the Martian Manhunter's niece, and finally, last, but not least, Superboy."

Conner gets up with as warm a smile as he can muster, because if this is Mr. Kent's best friend, he certainly wants to have her on his side. "Hi Lana, nice to meet you." He offers her his hand, and when she takes it, he can't help but notice that she's trembling.

"You're his spitting image," she says, and then she turns to Mr. Kent. "Clark, he looks exactly like—

"The resemblance to Superman is uncanny," he agrees.

Conner catches himself before his face can turn into a full-on frown. Dinner's a disaster. For whatever reason, Lana is clearly uncomfortable, and Conner has the distinct impression that she's doing everything in her power to stop herself from looking at him, and failing. The whole conversation at dinner is monopolized by Kaldur talking with Jonathan about fishing.

[I don't like how Lana is looking at you,] M'gann tells him when Martha passes out the meatloaf.

[Ok, so I'm not imagining it.]

[M'gann, you listening?] Wally butts in.

[Yeah,] she answers.

[I wanna make a joke about how Supey monopolizes the attention of hot redheads, but I'm kind of creeped out by how Lana's been staring at Conner all night long.]

[Yeah, we were just talking about that, actually,] Conner lets him know. He frowns into his plate. It's probably the whole Superman thing.

Dinner continues to proceed awkwardly, Lana keeps staring at Conner, then remembering and staring at her peas. Suddenly she starts up, looking bewildered, and then she looks at M'gann.

[M'gann, what did you do?] Conner asks immediately, but M'gann doesn't answer.

Lana swallows. "I'm sorry," her voice trembles, "I, uh, I should go. Martha, thanks for dinner, it was lovely, as always."

Clark reaches across the table and puts his hand on her hand, and once again Conner can't help but have a feeling that there's more between the two than meets the eye, though now the feeling just strengthens his resolve to fix Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane together. "No, Lana," he says, "Stay."

"Clark, I…"

"Lana, you haven't even had desert yet." He smiles that charming corn-bred farmboy smile of his. "More importantly, _I_ haven't had desert yet, and if you leave now, I won't be able to enjoy it."

"Oh, Clark," Lana sighs, "you know I could never say no to that smile."

"It's settled then," he says, and then his gaze fixes hard on M'gann, "Lana's staying." Clark spends the rest of the dinner with his hand on Lana, and that, at least, seems to be enough to distract Lana from Conner. But the minute Clark's finished his desert, Lana stands up, thanks Martha for the invitation.

Clark stands up, "Wait, if you won't stay, let me at least take you home."

Lana laughs a bit emptily, "I'm afraid, Clark, that while that's quite gallant, we are living in the 21st century."

"Oh, come on Lana, I've always taken you home."

"That was when we were in high school Clark. I'm not a girl anymore. Besides, I drove here, and you can't exactly just walk from my place back here."

"Lana, it's dark…" Clark whines.

"And I drive on dark roads every day."

"I can take her," Wally offers. "I _can_ run back, quick as a whip. Clark doesn't have to worry about Lana, Lana doesn't have to feel bad about imposing on Clark, and I get to spend more time with the luscious babe." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Everyone's a winner."

Artemis rolls her eyes. "And we don't have to put up with your ugly face, you're right. Everybody does win."

Wally wraps an arm around Artemis. "You know you love me."

"I know I'd love to make you into a pin cushion," she says poisonously, and Wally's smile falters for just a second as he unwraps his arm from around her.

"OK, let's go," Wally says to Lana. "I bet you're not used to having a genuine superhero escort you, huh?"


	7. Party Crashers

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Summary: **Lex Luthor is in prison, and Superboy is given a mission to protect the man who put him there: Clark Kent. But what Conner doesn't know... (Part V of Masks, from the Anon Meme).

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 7: Party Crashers**

* * *

When Wally returns, fifteen minutes later, they're all huddled in front of the television. It's a rerun of the Flaming C, so Jonathan changes the channel to MNN, which apparently is covering some big shinding in Gotham.

"Cat Grant, reporting from Gotham City, where the Wayne Foundation Gala is more splendid than ever."

"Oh, that's right," Mr. Kent says absently, "the Wayne Gala is tonight."

"Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham's, been quite busy with work recently, but of course, he's here tonight." Grant waves over to a man in a black suit, whom Conner recognizes as Bruce Wayne. He looks even worse than the last time Conner saw him a few days ago; the dark circles under his blue eyes are even darker and deeper than Conner remembers, and his skin has a distinctly unattractive green sheen to it. The woman hanging off his arm is an extreme contrast: blonde and buxom, she's wearing too much makeup and her dress leaves little to the imagination.

"That Wayne's a real classy guy," Artemis says sarcastically.

"He sure knows how to pick 'em," Wally agrees dreamily without a trace of irony in his voice.

"Mr. Wayne," Cat says.

"Please, call me Bruce," Wayne says, though his heart doesn't seem to be in it.

"Of course, Bruce, I have to say, I'm surprised to see you here: word has it that you've been working round the clock, and now, you've come down with the flu?"

"Oh, no, it's just a little head cold," Wayne answers. "Nothing a little DayQuil can't fix."

"Oh, don't listen to Brucie," Wayne's date interrupts. "He's such a brave soul—the poor baby's terribly sick, Alfie was threatening to tie him to his bed, but there was no keeping him."

"Well Cat," Wayne explains, "it's well-known that I wouldn't miss this for the world. This Gala is a major fundraiser for the Wayne Foundation, last year… last year…" Wayne's eyes are suddenly unfocused. "Sorry, I lost my train of thought. What was I saying?"

"You were talking about how the Gala's a great fundraiser and last year the Gala raised like a gazillion dollars."

"Oh, yes, last year the Gala raised $398 million for the Foundation. This year we're hoping to raise half a billion. Of course, the people watching at home can give too, by going to Wayne-dot-org-Cat, could I ask you to put that down on the screen?" Cat nods.

"Tell, 'em Brucie," Wayne's date says, "tell 'em how you already gave a hundred mil of your own money to the Gala tonight." She hugs him and presses a kiss to Wayne's temple. "You're such a saint, Brucie, that's why I love you."

Wayne tries to smile roguishly, but succeeds only in looking tired and absolutely miserable. Conner can't help but notice that he doesn't tell his date that he loves her too.

"And what exactly does the Wayne Foundation do?" Cat asks.

"I established the Foundation in honor of my parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne." Wayne sniffles. "The Foundation's primary aim is to aid in crime prevention. To that end… to that end…" Wayne looks lost again.

"He's normally a spaz," Artemis says, "but he normally doesn't blank in the middle of a sentence."

"Indeed, it would appear that Mr. Wayne is fighting absolute exhaustion," Kaldur comments.

"It must be really bad, if he's so tired he can't even function," Wally says.

"He's only human," Mr. Kent adds.

"Crime prevention," Wayne's date whispers in his ear back on the screen.

"Right, the Wayne Foundation funds programs that fight the social causes of crime. We fund afterschool programs, vocational training, drug detox clinics, homeless and battered person shelters, and, specific to Gotham we also have a special partnership with the GCPD, and a special fund to aid the children of police officers shot down in the line of duty and the children of the victims of violent crime. This year too, we want to start a partnership with the Justice League, so we can contribute to the safety of all peoples across the globe."

"See, isn't he a doll?" Wayne's date says. "That's all my Brucie."

"Oh, I set up the Foundation, but there's a lot of hard work done by a lot of people. All I do is provide money and help with the publicity, and really, that's the least I could do." Wayne coughs into his sleeve.

"Well, thank you so much, Mr. Wayne," Cat says, "Now, I'll let you get back to your dinner."

Wayne half smiles, and he looks ready to say something charming and inane, but just then, an all too familiar laugh rings out.

Conner feels his heart jump into his throat from the shock. Mr. Kent actually jumps, spilling his hot coffee all over himself.

"Oh fu—" he bites his lip. "Excuse me," he grimaces in pain as he gets up. "I have to go change," he explains as he leaves for the bathroom.

Conner barely pays any attention; he's transfixed upon the screen, watching as the Joker and Harley Quinn stroll into the ballroom with a pair of hyenas and a handful of machine-gun toting goons in clown masks.

He hears Wayne's voice talking off screen, "Lucius, get me out of here," he says, and Conner resists the urge to roll his eyes at Wayne's cowardice, because any sane man runs when the Joker comes.

"Hello ladies and germs," the Joker says grandly to the ballroom, "Harley seems to have misplaced our tickets somewhere, I told the bouncers that it was all a big misunderstanding, that I'm a close, personal friend of Brucie Wayne, and well, once we got it all squared away, we had a good old laugh about it, why don't you show 'em Harl?"

The camera zooms in on Harely Quinn, who's holding up a dead man in a tuxedo, a gruesome grin's plastered on his face: the mask of death.

"Now, where's my bestest friend in the whole wide world?"

"I'm right here, Puddin'" Quinn answers, raising her hand and letting the corpse drop on the floor with a thud.

"Not you, idiot," the Joker growls as he slaps her to the floor.

"Ah, right, there, Brucie, darling! It's been far too long," the Joker waves his hand eagerly, as if though greeting an old friend. The camera pans across the ballroom, to where Bruce Wayne and his date are attempting to leave quietly. The Joker presses a button and laughter from an old sitcom blares out. "Oh, you're not trying to sneak out on ol' Joker, are you, Brucie?"

Thus caught, Wayne turns around and stands up tall. "Of course not," he says.

"Hmmm, you know what, Brucie, ol' buddy, ol' pal, you don't look so good."

"I've been working long hours," Wayne answers, and Conner can only assume that exhaustion has made him brave enough to talk to the Joker like that. The only other person Conner knows of who will humor the Joker like that is Batman.

"All work and no play—

"Makes me a dull boy," Wayne cuts the Joker off.

The Harlequin of Hate frowns, and then he hits Wayne hard enough to send the man tumbling to the floor, his date screaming in terror. "That's _my_ punchline, Brucie."

Wayne gets himself up—his lip is bleeding, but he hardly seems to notice.

"Sorry; it was so predictable, I thought I was supposed to say it."

Joker looks like he's about to hit Wayne again, but then he just laughs instead. "Oh, Brucie, you've got a helluva sense of humor. It's why I love you. That and the fact that you threw this whole big party for me. They say you're trying to raise 500 million smackeroos for crime in Gotham, and seein' as I'm the Clown Prince of Crime, Harl and I thought we'd save you the trouble of lugging all that gold up to Arkham."

"I think you've misunderstood," a familiar voice calls out, and the camera swings to the other side of the room, where Robin has appeared.

Joker claps. "Oh, goody, Birdbrain, that means Guanoman can't be far behind. Half a billion green ones, Robin and Bats, oh, Brucie, how did you know it's my birthday? Harl how come you never get me anything this nice for my birthday?"

"Because nobody knows when your birthday is, Puddin'."

"True," Joker admits as he wraps an arm around Wayne, "Didn't stop Brucie from throwing me a party."

"Except for the part where I didn't throw you a party," Wayne says as he throws Joker off of him, disgust thick on his face.

"Oh, you'll make me think I'm not wanted here," Joker scowls.

"Now he gets the idea," Robin says.

One of the henchmen whispers something to Joker, who pulls away, horrified. "Harl, apparently this fundraiser isn't for crime, it's for crime _prevention_."

Quinn gasps. "But Puddin', how could someone possibly wanna get rid of crime?"

"I dunno Harl, you're the headshrinker, you tell me."

Quinn pulls out a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses and puts them on, marching up to Wayne as if to inspect him. "This is a clear case of the Oedipus complex, I'm afraid he has it bad, Puddin'. His mother never loved him so—

That seems to be too much for Wayne to bear, and he lashes out against Quinn. Robin picks that moment to glide-kick the Joker, right in the face, and in a second, all hell breaks loose. Quinn is surprisingly agile and Wayne is a coddled playboy billionaire; he's tired and sick and completely out of his league. Quinn takes her giant mallet and swings it into Wayne, knocking the wind out of him. She hits him again, and knocks him to his knees. A third swing sends him crashing into the floor.

Suddenly, the mallet is ripped out of her hands. "Hey, what's the big idea?" she asks, and turns around, annoyed, but she squeaks when she sees Superman floating behind her with her mallet in his hand. He breaks it into splinters like it's a toothpick and throws the pieces behind him. He picks her up by the wrist and she wriggles in protest. "Hey, no fair, no fair, you can't do this to me!" she shrieks.

"The lady's right," Joker says, "this isn't your town. You can't come here. Gotham is Batsy's town."

"Batman's busy with Justice League matters," Superman explains dismissively. He throws Harley to the Joker, who steps aside, still fighting with Robin, rather than catch her.

"Who the hell do you think you are, taking _my_ Batsy away from Gotham?" Joker snarls. "What if something happens to him? Then how will I kill him?" Enraged, Joker backhands Robin, pushing him away, and heads over to Wayne—Conner is surprised how fast Joker is: he's got Wayne's hair clutched in his fist before Superman can stop him. He pulls Wayne's head up and presses a knife against his throat. "And you want to give money to these people? You want to give money to these people who take Batman away from Gotham, away from _me_? I should kill you for that!"

Conner is fairly certain that Wayne's a goner, but then, he manages to elbow Joker in the crotch, and suddenly Wayne is standing free. Robin jumps on Quinn, and Wayne seems to follow Robin's lead, jumping on the Joker. Superman has turned his attention to the Joker's goons, one of whom is pointlessly showering him with machinegun fire. Superman catches each of the bullets to keep them from ricocheting into the crowd and moves in on the goon until he can simply grab the gun, which he crushes with ease.

Joker's laugh rings out again. Except, it isn't Joker's laugh, Conner realizes: it's loud and creepy, but too rhythmic for the Joker's mania, and the voice is too deep. The camera pans from Superman to Wayne who is laughing mirthlessly. It's clear that he can't help himself, and Robin drops Quinn, faced transfixed in horror on Wayne.

"See, that's much better," Joker says, getting up. He brushes imaginary dust from his arms. Wayne hasn't stopped laughing. "Though, I do hope you're not on any kind of cold medication. My special Joker laughing gas doesn't really get along very well with cold medication." Then as an afterthought, he adds, "Not that it really gets along with living people."

Robin lunges toward Wayne with a vial in his hand, but Joker pushes Wayne away and grabs Robin by the wrist. "This wouldn't happen to be the antidote to my lovely little concoction? Why, Robin, don't you know? I'm trying to help my dearest Brucie. He's sick, and we all know, there's no better medicine than laughter."

By now, Wayne's curled on the floor, laughing weakly, but clearly unable to stop.

Joker wrests the vial from Robin's hand and throws it to the floor.

"Superman!" Robin calls out, "That's the only dose I have on me!"

Superman catches it, but Harley's punching glove gun knocks it out of his hand, and it crashes to the floor, shattering. The color drains from Superman's face, and then he turns to Harley Quinn and he looks dangerously angry. He rushes to grab Quinn, but the Joker's voice calls out, "You're going to let her go. Both of us."

"And why in the world would I do that?"

That's when Conner notices the silence.

"Because you have bigger problems than us right now." Joker points to where Wayne is lying still on the floor, a grin plastered on his face. Robin is kneeling beside him.

Robin looks up at Superman. "He's… he's not breathing."

Faster than a speeding bullet, Superman is on his knees besides Bruce Wayne, pressing down on Wayne's chest. "Come on Bruce," Superman says as he presses down on Wayne's chest, "Come on Bruce, _breathe_. I know you're too stubborn to die damn it. Bruce, _Bruce_, damn it Bruce, don't die on me."

And there's something about how Superman says Bruce, that makes it all finally click for Conner, and suddenly he knows who it is that Superman is desperately trying to breathe life into. And in a flash, he's out of the Kent's house, on the road running towards Gotham.

* * *

Wally catches up with him in ten seconds on the Kansas border and cuts him off.

"What are you doing?" Conner asks, using almost more self control than he has to keep from just shoving Wally out of the way.

"Stopping you," Wally says.

"What? Get out of the way!" he shouts, because Batman… Batman needs help.

"No."

"Wally," he says through clenched teeth, "I can _make_ you get out of the way. Don't test my patience."

"I know why you're going—

"What? How?"

"Because Robin's my best friend and he told me, and once you figure out Robin is Dick Grayson, it's not hard to figure out who Batman is. Superman only knows because he used his x-ray vision. Batman's so paranoid, now his mask is lined with lead. But, it's kind of obvious, in retrospect: who else in Gotham has the means and the motive?—

"What do you mean, motive?"

"Don't you know? Bruce Wayne saw his parents murdered when he was eight years old."

Conner feels like he's been punched, suddenly. He's never given thought to Batman's parents, or Batman's family at all—never wondered what Robin was to him, even, but now… Then, he remembers himself.

"So you knew?" Conner asks angrily, "You knew that he was in trouble, that he was in danger, and you didn't do anything to help?"

"I thought he could handle it. It's not the first time Bruce Wayne's gotten in and out of trouble. Last year, the Riddler held him hostage and demanded Batman solve his riddles by midnight, threatening to blow Wayne's brains out, and the year before that, the Mad Hatter mind controlled every billionaire in Gotham, including Wayne, and the year before that, some idiot socialite thought it would be really fun to keep Penguin and besides, Joker's right—Gotham is Batman's town. If random Leaguers start showing up in Gotham whenever Batman's in trouble, someone will eventually be clever to put two and two together."

"Everyone knows you're Robin's best friend! No one would have thought it was strange if you were in Gotham visiting!" Conner shouts, because he doesn't buy Wally's reasoning. "Now get the hell out of my way, or—

"You can do whatever you like Conner, but I'm not getting out of the way."

Conner tries to run past Wally, but Wally is faster. He tries to jump past Wally, but again, Wally is faster.

"Where the hell is the Kid Flash who rushes into things head-first when I need him?" Conner growls in desperation.

"You mean the Kid Flash who taught you about loopholes and almost got you _killed_? I almost got you killed, Conner, almost got us _both_ killed, and Batman too."

Conner's face falls. He wants to cry. "But Batman… he needs help… he needs—

"He has help, Conner. Superman is there. And, look, I know Superman is lame, but he's _capable_, at least, and if… if Batman isn't going to be ok, then, he isn't. But if he is going to be ok, then he needs to have his identity protected, because he's going to be in the hospital, and because, well, because Batman and Robin are strong, but Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson are human and they're frail, and Bruce Wayne's butler is old and Dick Grayson's uncle can't walk. And because Batman couldn't do the things he does if people knew he was Bruce Wayne. They'd look into the company to make sure he wasn't stealing—

"Batman wouldn't steal!" Conner protestes. His throat is sore and it hurts to talk.

"I know. And you know. But they don't. And listen, if people knew Batman was rich, don't you think they'd sue him for every bit of property damage?

"I know it's hard. I know you want to go, protect him, be with him, I get it. But going won't save Bruce Wayne, and it might kill Batman."

Conner's shoulders sink, defeated, and he turns away, because he thinks he might cry and he doesn't want Wally to see. Suddenly Wally's arms are wrapped around him, tightly.


	8. Plop, Plop, Plop

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 8: Plop, Plop, Plop**

When they get back, the TV is off and the house is silent. Conner's heart jumps into his throat. "Ba—Bruce Wayne, is he…?" he can't bear to finish the thought.

Mr. Kent, who's back in clean clothes, is the one that answers. "He's alive, for now; they took him to Gotham General."

Artemis adds, "Superman got him breathing—or laughing at least."

"And the Joker?" Wally asks.

"He got away," Mr. Kent answers through gritted teeth. Mr. Kent looks exhausted and pale. Suddenly, Conner remembers that Batman is Mr. Kent's friend, or at least, Bruce Wayne is.

In the night though, when he can't sleep, he does get out of his bed as quietly as he can, and then he does run all the way to Gotham General. Superboy's been working with Batman for years now, and he knows enough of stealth, he thinks, to get to see Bruce Wayne without anyone noticing. But it turns out, he doesn't need stealth, because Robin calls him on the comlink as he gets near Gotham. Robin just gives him a short instruction: "Meet me in front of the hospital's main entrance. Come in civies."

Richard Grayson is the one waiting for him in front of the hospital. Now, he doesn't know how he managed to miss the resemblance when he met Dick at the Planet, and then he remembers. Oh. At the Planet, Dick had said one day they'd laugh. He doesn't feel like laughing now, and from the looks of it, neither does Dick.

"Wally said you figured it out."

Conner nods.

"How?"

"The way Superman said his name."

Dick nods. "That's a new one." The boy—and without his bright costume and cocky smile, Dick looks so much smaller—looks absolutely exhausted.

Dick leads Conner into the hospital. There are police officers stationed outside Bruce Wayne's room. A fat one out of uniform bars the door.

"It's ok, Detective Bullock," Dick says, "this is Conner Jones. He's a friend of mine. A friend of Bruce's."

The fat cop, Bullock, looks at Conner, as if though appraising him, but then steps aside and lets them in. There are no flowers in the room—of course, Poison Ivy—leaving it bare and sterile. An old man is standing vigil. Conner recognizes him as the old man who made his birthday cake and bullied Batman into eating. He didn't remember him being quite so old, but he'd been wearing a domino mask then, and maybe it had just been hiding the wrinkles around his eyes.

Batman—Bruce Wayne is lying in the bed. He's tethered to ten machines, things going in an out of him, and they have him in a thick vest that expands and contracts rhythmically. He doesn't look like Batman.

He looks up at Robin.

"He's going to be OK, right?"

Robin's eyes—they're blue—are swimming. "I… they… they don't know. No one's ever survived Joker Venom without receiving the antidote; people who don't get it in time usually don't make it. The only reason Bruce is alive is because Superman wouldn't let him die—but by the time they got him her, the toxin had already metabolized the toxin and the antidote wasn't any good. We don't know what kind of damage Joker Venom does beyond causing the victim to laugh themselves to death. They've got him on dialysis and muscle relaxants so he doesn't keep laughing." Robin sinks into a chair and buries his face in his hands. "Right now, he can't even breathe by himself—that's what that vest is—it's like an iron lung."

"Biphasic cuirass ventilation," Conner says automatically in what Wally has dubbed his Wikipedia voice.

Robin nods.

Conner looks at Batman. Batman has never exactly had a tan, but now for the first time, Conner notices how pale he is. Without the Batsuit he's less imposing, smaller, frail. He thinks back to what he thought about Bruce Wayne before he knew he Bruce Wayne was Batman. He'd thought he was a jerk; but now he understands why he was so angry with Mr. Kent. Mr. Kent had published the information Superman had stolen from Batman—from Bruce Wayne. And then, the LexCorp problem had put so much pressure on Batman's company and his alter ego. Conner remembers overhearing Alfred tell Mr. Kent over the phone that the increase in business was impinging on Mr. Wayne's nighttime activities. He'd thought that had meant his activities as a playboy; now he realizes that he'd meant his activities as _Batman_; Batman protected Gotham and ran the Justice League while Bruce Wayne ran around Gotham and ran a multi-billion dollar conglomerate empire. And he was only human.

Joker wouldn't have gotten the upper hand if Batman hadn't been so exhausted and sick. All because Superman wanted to get Lex Luthor behind bars. Conner would rather have Lex Luthor running free than have Bruce Wayne lying in this hospital bed. He hates Superman, except, of course, that Superman saved Batman's life just now.

"Have they found the Joker?"

"No."

"Wasn't he in Arkham?"

"He was supposed to be," Robin answers. Gordon's looking into it. I've already hacked into Arkham's records—he was there this morning and he was supposed to be on some pretty hardcore antipsychotics that left him in a near catatonic state."

"So, someone switched his meds?"

"Yeah. They didn't change the prescription."

"It couldn't have been an accident," Conner says.

Robin laughs. "No. Not with the Joker. He's one of the highest security patients."

"So it was intentional."

"That's the theory. In the past, Joker and Harley have bribed people in Arkham to facilitate his escapes… but Joker was catatonic and Harley was angry with him over something he'd done to Poison Ivy."

"But wait," Conner says, "She was with him. She wasn't angry…"

"She was angry _before_ he broke out, not after. Harley's particular brand of insanity means that she can't stay angry at the Joker whenever they're in the same room. Once, he tried to spray acid on her face, and then beat her to a pulp and threw her off a moving train. She was in a full-body cast, didn't hear from him for two years, helped Batman with a bunch of profiling, got declared sane, and then, he showed up on her doorstep with some dead roses and in fifteen minutes they were back at the Hahacienda making whoopee. But she'd been ranting about him earlier today—she was livid until he showed up to break her out."

"Outside job."

"It would appear so."

Conner sits down and locks his eyes on Robin's. "You must be thinking what I'm thinking…"

"That Lex Luthor's threatened Bruce Wayne…"

"He has the means and the motive. He's already tried to get rid of Bruce Wayne once before, and now, more than ever, he has a reason to do it; he thinks Bruce Wayne is responsible for Mr. Kent publishing the article, and beyond that, his company's bleeding business. The Clown didn't want money. He went straight for Bruce Wayne."

Robin sighs. "That was Superman's theory too."

"Maybe Superman's not as stupid as we thought."

"Or maybe Superman's obsessed with Luthor. There's no proof."

Conner thinks back to everything he knows about Luthor and wonders if they really need proof. There's no doubt Luthor would do it and could do it. This, after all, is the only man who has ever made Superman bleed.

His heart skips a beat.

He doesn't know how he missed that detail. Doesn't know how _Batman_ missed that detail.

"What's wrong?" Robin asks. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Lex Luthor is the only man who's ever made Superman bleed," Conner says slowly.

"Yeah. Him and Darkseid."

Conner notices the old man—maybe this is Alfred?—has his eyes on him. But they're tired and old and completely inscrutable.

It's hard for Conner to breathe. He gets up. "I… I have to go. Call me when he gets up?"

But he doesn't wait for an answer. He runs to Metropolis, faster than he's ever run before, to talk to the only man who has ever made Superman bleed.

It's the middle of the night and well past visiting hours, but Conner plays the "Son of Superman" card, so the weary night guard agrees to ask Luthor if he's willing to talk to Superboy. They tell him ten minutes later that Luthor will see him, but it's not until another twenty minutes have elapsed that they bring Luthor to him, and it's pretty clear Luthor was asleep. It doesn't make the man less terrifying, and Conner's hairs stand up as he walks into the room and sits down across the desk from him.

"I'll admit, Superboy," Luthor says calmly, "after our last meeting, I didn't think I'd ever see you again." Conner doesn't dignify that with an answer, so Luthor continues. "It's the middle of the night. What was so urgent?"

"You hired someone at Arkham to switch the Joker's meds and set him after Wayne."

Luthor rolls his eyes. "I don't have to listen to this. Especially not without my lawyer. If the League wants to level baseless accusations at me, they can do so during normal business hours when my lawyers are present, and not before."

"This isn't the League. This is me. And it's not a baseless accusation."

"I don't work with the Clown. No one in their right mind would. And I can promise you, Superboy, there's absolutely no proof of anything you're accusing me of, so if that's all, I do think I'll get back to my beauty sleep."

"I know it was you. Clark Kent's protected and hard to get to, and your company's losing business like a hemophiliac bleeding out. This stunt will give you time and vengeance.

"But that could indeed wait 'til morning. It's not really why I'm here."

"Ah, then do pray tell, what brings you here to my humble abode of the moment at this ungodly hour?"

"You're the only man who's ever made Superman bleed," Conner states.

Luthor smiles like a shark. "It's not a secret. The Alien bleeds red."

"You lied to me."

Luthor's eyebrow goes up and he crosses his arms. "Oh?"

"You asked me if I was Superman's bastard. You knew exactly what I am!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Because you're the only person to have made Superman bleed. No one else has access to his genetic material."

Luthor leans back. Then he laughs and snorts out of his nose. "Alright. There's no law against cloning aliens, so I'll admit it. I hired Desmond to clone me a Superman. And look at you Kr, almost as good as the real thing. Not quite, of course. You're weaker than he is, slower. Red sunlight drains you faster, and kryptonite hurts you longer. And of course, you can't fly. But a good-enough copy, all things considered."

Conner swallows hard. "All things considered?"

"Oh, I spent years trying to clone Superman from those precious few drops I drew. LexCorp engineers spent billions of my money trying and failing. All those, poor malformed monstrosities we had to put out of their non-sentient misery. The best we got was a horrible monster we ended up calling Bizarro. It started out looking enough like Superman. And like Superman it was faster than a speeding bullet, and more powerful than a locomotive, and it could _fly_. It could talk, at the beginning. It was clever. But then, after three months clone degeneration began to set in and its tissues began to fall apart. Its mind went first, which created quite a problem, because we ended up with a crumbling creature with the intellectual capacity of a three year old and Superman's powers. The final fight with Superman ended it. Nothing else came even close.

"I still have photographs of the creatures, if you'd like to see your older brothers."

Conner doesn't answer. He's having trouble breathing, and it's only the fact that he's x-rayed Luthor that lets him know the man hasn't got any kryptonite on him.

"Then, I heard about Dr. Desmond and his Washington-based cloning lab and his wonderful chimeras. He'd had some excellent successes making super powered creatures, so I gave him the last bit of Superman's DNA and half a billion dollars and he made me my little weapon. And he did it. I don't know how, but he stabilized Superman's DNA and made my weapon. A pity the League stole it, but at least it sends shivers up Superman's spine, and given that it couldn't take Superman in a fight, I'm not sure it was such a loss after all."

Conner has a feeling that he should want to punch Luthor. He's stronger than Luthor. Luthor doesn't have any kryptonite or red sunlight lamps. But that doesn't keep his heart from racing, pumping adrenalin and terror in his veins. Suddenly, Conner is very, very sorry that he came to see Luthor.

As if sensing the quickening of his heart, Luthor leans forward, and Conner instinctively recoils several feet away from him.

"What do you think Superman would say if he knew? Hmm? If he knew that I paid five hundred million dollars to have Desmond make you so I could have you kill him?

"Or, do you think he knows, and that's why you make his skin crawl? Why, when red kryptonite relieved him of his inhibitions, his first thought was to destroy you like the sin against nature that you are?"

"You're not going to get away with this," Conner says, too bound up in terror, too busy trying to keep above the rising tide of panic, to realize how pathetic he sounds.

Luthor lets out a resounding belly laugh. "Oh really? What, am I a Saturday morning cartoon villain now? Or are you angry with me for giving you life? I made you. You belong to me. That's why Superman hates you. You're nothing but a thing; a pale imitation and mockery of the original. Certainly, you're not human, but you're not even an alien. You're just the mild success of a deranged man who went on to turn himself into Blockbuster. You're not alive. You're not a person. Just a broken toy who serves no purpose whatsoever, a collection of bits and pieces strung together by science; Frankenstein's monster."

Conner thinks he could cry, except he knows he can't, can't let himself cry in front of Lex Luthor, even as Luthor laughs at him.

"Do you think the boys who broke you out of Cadmus don't know this? Do you think they're your _friends_? More likely they're just pretending, using you until you begin to break down too. I'll have to give Desmond this; I had thought you'd degenerate sooner.

"Do you want to hear how it happened to Bizarro? First, well first his brain began to rot. He forgot his name and purpose, but only just enough. 'Me am Superman'. The stupid thing: caught cops for speeding while they were engaging in a high speed police chase. Nearly killed a man for 'wrestling' with a woman. Tried to keep Lois Lane safe by keeping her hidden away, but forgot to feed her. Then his skin started to rot and fall of in chunks. It lost its color and fell, plop, plop, plop in bits and pieces. His teeth fell out, one by one, and still he continued to grin his stupid toothless grin. 'Me am Superman. Me am love Lois. Me am save boat. Me heat vision am stop oil spill. Why boat people am screaming?' His liver began to fail and his eyes turned yellow. Until all it took was a single punch from Superman and the thing died and went back to Hell, where it belonged.

"So, where do you think you'll begin to fail first? Hmm? Personally, I think the powers will go first. You're not as strong as Bizarro was. Though, it wouldn't be surprising if the central nervous system began to fail first. Maybe you'll go blind. Maybe you'll go stupid. 'Me am Superboy. Me am love Martian girl. Me hug her really hard with all my strength. Me keep her warm with heat vision.'

"And I think it'll hurt. Bizarro was in pain. So much pain. Not that he could understand. But don't worry, Superboy, because you're such a poor weapon, I'm sure Superman will still be around to put you out of your misery when you need it. Or maybe your little friends could do it for you. All it would take would be a well-placed punch at the right time. Kid Flash could probably work up enough momentum. Or a kryptonite arrow. A kryptonite Batarang. You know, Batman always keeps kryptonite on him. Maybe he'll do it. Maybe he'll be the one to put you to sleep."

"Enough!" a strong voice yells out. Conner jumps up and turns around. It's Mr. Kent at the door, and he looks livid. "That's enough. Superboy, don't listen to a word he says. He's a mad dog." The guards come in after Mr. Kent and take Lex Luthor away. Conner sort of can't move. Breathing is still hard. His throat hurts and his eyes are swimming.

Mr. Kent kneels down in front of him. "Superboy, listen to me, it's OK, he's gone now."

Conner's lips tremble, and the tears begin to fall down his cheeks. "He made me," he says quietly. "Lex Luthor made me, as a weapon, to kill Superman. And then he… he…" Conner can't finish the sentence. "He lied to me. He said, said I was Superman's bastard, when he knew, knew full well what I was, because he _made_ me. Superman knew what I was. A monster. That's why he hates me."

Mr. Kent cups Conner's face. "No, no, of course not Superboy. Superman doesn't hate you. He just… didn't know how to react."

"He said I was going to fall apart. That my skin would fall off! _Plop, plop, plop._"

"He can't know that. He said it himself—he doesn't know how Desmond did it. Bizarro lasted only three months—you've been around for years. It's going to be _fine_."

"He… he… said I'd hurt M'gann."

"And Luthor's said Superman would destroy the Earth. He's the monster. Not you. And I can prove it. Batman's a smart guy. Maybe the smartest guy in the world. And he's an excellent judge of character, right? He has to be, to be the leader of the Justice League. The most powerful people in the world trust him completely. And he trusts you, right? Do you think, for a second, that Batman would let you anywhere near Robin if he thought you were a monster?"

Conner just sobs. Mr. Kent frowns. He seems to realize words have failed him. So he just takes Conner in his arms and holds him tight. "Luther's the monster," he says. "He likes hurting people for fun. You're not a monster. You risk your life every day, to help people and to help your friends. You're a hero. Better yet, you're a charming boy. My parents love you. And if Superman had known what I know now, I promise you Superboy, things would have been very different."

M'gann and the bioship are waiting outside.

_Hello! Conner!_ He wants to slap his head. Of course Clark Kent wouldn't be able to show up in Metropolis that quickly without M'gann's bioship. Conner can't believe he didn't realize it sooner, and he's so angry with himself that it almost makes him cry, which at this point isn't hard because his eyes are still teary and red and his throat still hurts, and it's hard to speak.

He doesn't really want M'gann to see him like this. Doesn't want to appear weak in front of her, but more than that, he just doesn't want to have to explain to her what Luthor told him. Doesn't want to have to tell her that he's just a weapon created by Lex Luthor from Superman's stolen DNA for the sole purpose of destroying Superman because Luthor's a sick fuck. More than anything, he doesn't want to tell her about the other failed clones, or about Bizarro, or about how he's probably going to fall to pieces one day.

And then, M'gann just looks at him, her eyes are so full of love and sadness, and he stumbles away from Mr. Kent and into her, digs in face into her neck, buries it into her red hair, and begins to sob again in earnest. And she just holds him tightly and strokes his hair.

Mr. Kent helps them into the bioship. M'gann has to let him go, just for a second so she can give the ship instructions, but then she sits down and he sinks at her feet with his head in her lap as she strokes his hair.

The bioship lands on the terrace of Bruce Wayne's penthouse. M'gann and Mr. Kent help him out and into Bruce Wayne's bed, and Conner can't help but feel useless, because he's supposed to be protecting Mr. Kent, not the other way around.

Mr. Kent brings him a glass of warm milk and a slice of chocolate cake, probably only stored in the pantry because it's Batman's pantry, and Batman is always prepared for everything. Conner takes a drink and a bite, but he's got no appetite, and Mr. Kent takes it away, and M'gann just lies in bed with him, planting soft kisses on him and stroking his hair until he falls asleep.

He wakes up screaming, thrashing about, with both M'gann and Mr. Kent struggling to restrain him. His nightmare—Cadmus—gives way to reality and he blanches at the thought that he could have hurt M'gann. Luthor said he would.

He resolves not to sleep, perhaps never again, because he's not sure he'll ever have another night's sleep without a nightmare like that. But M'gann can tell what he's thinking, not even, he thinks, because she's a telepath, but because she knows him so well.

[That's not going to work, Conner,] she tells him silently, [you have to sleep sometimes.]

[No I don't. Maybe. Maybe Kryptonians don't need to sleep.]

[Kryptonians need to sleep and dream, just like humans and Martians and all creatures with souls,] M'gann answers. She runs her hands along the lines of his jaw and cups his chin, looking into his eyes. [And you can't let Luthor hurt you. He's a wicked man. If you let him hurt you, that gives him power over you. He doesn't deserve it.]

She presses her lips to his, softly. [This is something Martians do,] she lets him know. [If you want to stop it at any time, you can.] And she kisses him more deeply. He returns the kiss. As she presses against him, he can feel her opening up—the feeling doesn't make any sense, except it feels _right_. It's like her skin is stripped away and then all there is is _her_-the very essence of what makes M'gann M'gann, and she feels like sunshine and chocolate and laughter and brisk summer breezes, and M'gann. He feels himself doing it to, though he has not idea how it's happening, only that it feels wonderful and beautiful and exciting, and now he can't even remember why he was upset, doesn't even understand how he could be upset, when he's blending into M'gann and M'gann is blending into him, until, for an instant of perfect clarity, they're one soul.

When it's over, he feels a sweet exhaustion heavier than any he's ever felt before. It carries him into oblivion, and at least for that night, he's at peace with himself and the universe. And if he dreams at all, he dreams of M'gann and sunshine and summer breezes.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Lex sure is a terrible person, isn't he? As you know if you've read my previous A/Ns, I started this story long before Lex Luthor appeared on the show. I'm struck now by how much more passionate and volatile he is in this story than he is in the show and in my other fanfics that try to more accurately portray YJ's take on the character.

I'm also struck by the fact that this chapter does not end on any kind of cliff-hanger. Looking back at it, I wonder if that's anti-climactic. or if a breather is good.


	9. Flatline

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 9: Flatline**

Conner wakes up with a smile on his face and M'gann in his arms. She's cuddled up against his chest and the sunlight hits her green skin and bright red hair, highlighting her freckles in just the right way to make him think that he could stay there forever.

The bed's comfortable too. Almost too comfortable—Conner's afraid of moving, because he's so comfortable, and he doesn't know if he'll ever find the same level of lazy comfort if he moves. So he doesn't, he just stays in bed holding M'gann. At least until she moves and nuzzles into him, and then he can't resist the temptation to kiss her.

She responds to the kiss and then open her eyes with a smile.

"Feeling better?" she asks.

"I don't think I've ever felt better," he tells her.

"Mmmm," she moans lazily. "What time is it?"

Conner looks around until he finds a clock on the dresser at the other side of the room. "Late," he says. "It's almost noon."

"Breakfast then?"

"It's like you read my mind."

They go out into the kitchen (they were already dressed). There's a whiteboard, with a note written on it:

"Had some errands I needed to run, but I didn't want to wake you after the night you had. I'll be back around dinner, we can all grab a bite downtown. –Clark"

"Shit!" Conner panics slightly, because he's supposed to be taking care of Mr. Kent, and he's pretty sure Luthor's got to be planning something, and for crying out loud, he doesn't even know where Mr. Kent's gone.

"Can you call him?" M'gann asks.

"I don't know his number."

"Can you call his work?"

So he does, and it takes him a while of having his call thrown around, when someone finally gives him Jimmy Olsen.

"Hey Superboy!" Jimmy says in his overly-friendly tone, "'sup?"

"I've lost Mr. Kent and I was wondering if I could get his cell number."

"Yeah, no problem, except, I just got a new phone and don't have his number in it yet. But Lois has been calling me nonstop this morning, so I can give you hers and she can give you his."

"Great, thanks," Conner says. He takes down Ms. Lane's number and calls her.

"Smallville, where the hell have you been all day?" she answers a little hostile.

"Oh, sorry, it's just me, Superboy," Conner tells her.

"Ah, right, sorry, that's the problem with caller ID. Is Clark there?" she asks.

"No, I was hoping you could give me his number. He left this morning to run errands, and I'm supposed to be looking after him."

"Classic Clark. I swear, the ground just swallows him right up. Sure, his number's 1-555-345-3887, but I doubt you'll have any more luck than I did. I've been trying to call him all morning. His phone's off. It keeps going straight to voice mail."

"Oh."

"Hey, if you find him, can you please tell him to give me a call? I'm on a train to Gotham, but the _Planet_ could really use his inside connections."

"Why are you going to Gotham?" Conner asks.

"Reports started coming out of Gotham Central around 5 AM this morning that Bruce Wayne passed away." Conner's grip accidentally crushes the receiver. "The _Gotham Post_ broke the story. Right now, neither the hospital, nor Wayne Enterprises, nor the GCPD is either confirming or denying it, but it's causing pandemonium on the world markets. I'm going to see if I can find anything out from Dick or Alfred on account of how I used to date Bruce, oh geeze, but I could use Clark on this one, and... and, well he needs to look over the obit so we can go ahead and publish it as soon as we know whether, well, what's going on."

"He isn't dead," Conner says.

"Do you know anything?" Ms. Lane asks.

"I know he's too stubborn to die," he tells her, then adds helplessly: "Superman said so."

"Oh, Superboy," Ms. Lane sighs, and she sounds so sad, "if stubbornness was the only thing you needed to keep you alive, I wouldn't need Superman to save me every time I fell off the thirtieth floor ledge."

"He's not dead," he says, but his throat is starting to hurt. He slams the receiver down—breaking the machine. Well, it was already broken, and it's not like Batman can't afford a fucking phone. It starts to beep, complaining that he hasn't hung it up right. He takes the phone and hurls it across the room with enough force to make a hole in the wall.

"Conner, what's wrong?" M'gann asks, but he can't hear her. He's already calling Robin on the League communicator, except Robin's not answering. He bites his cheek and tries for Superman. Then Wally.

"League communications are down," he tells her. "Fuck," he curses, and wishes he had another phone to throw. "We have to get to Gotham," he tells her.

"Is that where Clark—

"I don't give a damn about Clark right now, I need to get to Gotham, _now_."

"The bioship can get us there in five minutes, if we hurry," she tells him.

"Then let's go."

This time, Robin doesn't come to greet them. The whole place is swarming with cops and reporters and busy bodies. They get in because Conner has that stupid S on his chest.

The protection only gets stronger the deeper into the hospital they get.

It's Black Canary now, not some fat cop, who is guarding the door. She gasps to see them, her eyes are teary, and Conner wonder's if Batman's secret identity is still a secret in the League. "Go right in," she says so softly that he doesn't know if he'd be able to hear her without super hearing.

The room is even more depressing than before.

Batman is hooked up to so many things, but at least, at least there's still the rhythmic beeping that indicates a heartbeat, and it's not until he hears the beeping that he realizes he'd been holding his breath.

Alfred is sitting next to Batman, holding Batman's still hand. An old woman is standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders. Conner's not sure if she's trying to comfort him, or if she's leaning on him to keep from falling down.

Robin—Richard—is curled in a ball in a corner.

Superman is standing by the window, looking out.

"J'onn?" he asks, without turning.

"No," Conner answers.

Superman turns around. "You're supposed to be watching Kent in Metropolis," he says neutrally.

He's not sure why he says it, it just sort of comes out of his mouth, "I don't really care about Mr. Kent right now." Conner feels like crying again, but he resolves that he won't, not in front of Superman. "I heard… Ms. Lane said that they were saying—I had to know if it was true. But, it's not. Thank God, he's OK."

"No. He's not OK," Robin says. His eyes are red and his voice sounds raw. Conner has never seen Robin so distraught. He looks like a little boy, a scared child, not the friend he knows and loves and trusts.

"Dick," Superman begins to say, but Robin cuts him off.

"No. Don't lie to him. He deserves to know the truth." Robin gets up and looks Conner in the eyes. "He crashed three times last night. The last time it took them nearly six minutes to get his heart beating again. The EEG isn't picking anything up."

"But his heart is beating now," Conner says, desperately.

"There's a pacemaker in his heart now. The only reason it's beating is because there's a machine controlling it!" Robin shouts. "My uncle fell on his head from thirty feet and hasn't woken up for years, and the EEG picks things up!"

"I… I… don't understand," Conner says helplessly. He does understand. He understands what an EEG is. What he doesn't understand is how it could fail to pick up Batman's brain activity, when Batman is the smartest person he knows. Or rather, he understands, but it doesn't compute.

Batman is the one who normally explains things. But Batman's lying in a bed, apparently his heart is only beating because of a pacemaker.

"I am afraid, young Master Conner," Alfred says evenly, "that you do understand."

"Legally speaking," the woman says, "we need to perform a second test tomorrow to confirm, but, it doesn't look good. All we can do now is pray."

"I've called in J'onn. He was in China two hours ago, but he'll be here soon," Superman says.

And so they wait. M'gann looks scared and confused. Conner doesn't want to think about how he looks.

Finally, M'gann's uncle arrives and Superman explains the situation to him. "Please, J'onn," Superman pleads, "can you look and see if there's anything left of him?"

The Martian looks at the man in the bed, who might perhaps be dead even though his heart is beating.

"This is a dangerous precedent," he says. "Humans have their customs and their laws. If I find something while the human devices find nothing, that will change everything for them. I cannot be called to verify the death of every human." J'onn's words wound Conner to his core. They anger Superman, and for an instant, the Man of Steel's eyes glow red.

"I don't give a damn about precedent. I give a damn about Bruce."

"Because you failed to save him, or because he is a major contributor to the League?" J'onn asks, and Conner realizes just how right Wally was about the secrecy that shrouds Batman within the League.

"I'm not asking, J'onn," Superman growls dangerously. Conner feels the hairs on his skin stand up, and despite himself, he takes a step away from Superman.

J'onn sighs. "Very well then." He floats to Batman, puts his hands to Batman's temples, and for a minute, no one in the room dares breathe.

Finally J'onn draws his hands away. "Nothing," he says.

Robin cries out. The super drains out of Superman and he crumples against the wall, folding in on himself and burying his face in his arms.

"I am sorry," the Martian Manhunter says uselessly.

"In that case," Alfred says, "Leslie, may I entrust you to take care of the paperwork? I believe he was registered as an organ donor—

"You frigid son of a bitch," Conner lashes out, "how dare you talk about carving him up for parts?"

Cold fury flashes in Alfred's eyes. But he remains composed. "Young man. I raised this boy from the time that he was five weeks old. I diapered his bottom. I was there when he buried his parents. I was there when he made a vow. My boy cared for nothing more than for his fellow man. He dedicated his life to saving others, it would be the greatest injury not to let him dedicate his death to that very same purpose. You have known him for three years. I have known him for over thirty. I would kindly request you not assume you are the only one here grieving."

"Conner…" it's the first time he's heard that name in Superman's mouth.

"Don't you dare call me that!" he lashes out against Superman, because there's no one else in the room who can take it. "Don't you dare! Not if you're going to give up on him like this!"

"Conner," Robin says, suddenly he looks exhausted and defeated. "I know loss is hard. It isn't easy. It isn't fair. But it's part of life. Bruce learned that when he was eight years old. I did too."

"No, no, it can't be!" Conner refuses to believe it. He turns to M'gann. "You, can you look?" he begs her.

"Conner," she says sadly.

"No. You're a stronger telepath than he is. Maybe he's too weak, maybe—

"Conner, it doesn't work that way."

He falls to his knees before her and hugs her knees. "Please, please M'gann."

She breathes in heavily. "Alright my love, for you I'll try."

Finally, she says, "Darkness."

"As I said," her uncle answers, "nothing."

"No," she shakes her head, still holding on to him, "not nothing. Darkness. It's here as an affirmative choice. A shroud. A shield and a sword and a prayer. Darkness… and vengeance—the night."

"That's him!" Superman shouts with the joy Conner is feeling. "That's him. He's there!"

"Of course I'm here you idiot, did you really think I would walk towards the light?" M'gann says, except it's not M'gann saying it. Then she falls down and Conner rushes to hold her before she reaches the floor. "He's there," she says, "but he's fading, and he's fading fast."

"Can you get him out?" Superman asks.

"It's more bringing up than getting out," M'gann tells him.

Suddenly J'onn steps between M'gann and Superman. "Absolutely not, it's too dangerous."

"What the hell do you mean it's too dangerous? Are you so thick that—

"No Superman. It has become quite apparent that Bruce Wayne is Batman. But what you ask is too dangerous. His consciousness is too far gone. I cannot reach it. For M'gann to try, she must venture in too deep. The chance of success is slim, and the danger that she too might fall is too great."

"If it were any one of us, he'd do it for us," Conner says quietly. They all know it's true. "If you and your uncle worked together, could you do it?"

"It would still be a great risk," J'onn answers.

"But if all of you helped, if all of you tethered us here, it could work," M'gann says.

"He'd do it for any of us," Superman echoes.

M'gann nods. She holds her hand out, and Conner takes it, linking his fingers with hers and holding tight. J'onn takes his free hand. Superman takes hold of J'onn and Robin. Alfred and Leslie finish up the chain.

He feels the pleasant intrusion of M'gann in his mind, and then suddenly, a weight like he's never felt pulls him down. He's so cold he can't feel his fingers and the darkness is all-encompassing. He feels like his arms are about to be ripped off. M'gann begins to slip.

His heart stops.

He can't lose Batman _and_ M'gann. He's a solar-powered battery, but there's no light here.

No, that's wrong.

M'gann is here. M'gann is sunshine and chocolate and summer breezes.

It feels like his arm is falling off. His bicep is burning—it's like pulling up a dwarf star. But he manages. He holds on tightly, as if though for dear life, because M'gann is his life.

They pull him up. He holds on tight.

And then they're back in the hospital room, holding hands.

Bruce Wayne's eyes are open.

[That was an incredibly stupid thing you all did.]

"Ah yes, Master Bruce. So glad to have you back."

And it's like suddenly there's air in the room again, and they all crack up laughing.

[I have to say though,] Batman thinks out loud to them, [thank you.]

Superman, who looks besides himself with joy, grins like an idiot. "By Rao, did hell just freeze over?"

[No. I mean it. I would have been sorely disappointed if I had given Joker the satisfaction of killing me.]

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Author's Notes: **Did I have you scared with that chapter title? It's weird, breaking this story into chapters, since I just randomly posted it piecemeal when I was originally writing it. Someone originally asked about the inspiration for this chapter when I first posted it. The idea of how they rescue Bruce is borrowed from that JLU episode where the original seven have to pull Flash back from the brink after he pummels Brainthor.

Another random thing I've noticed is that I tend to write J'onn as something of a cold-hearted bastard, which I feel bad about. In animation I feel like he comes across as a pretty blah character, but I find myself writing him as actually unpleasant. Alas.

I've been hoarding chapters because I wanted this fic to have a more or less reasonable review count (mainly because I tend to avoid long stories with few reviews and I assume others do likewise), but I've decided I no longer particularly care, so I'll be posting chapters in batches. Though, if you did want to send me a review, it would make me a very happy person indeed.


	10. In Bed, With Ducks

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 10: In Bed, With Ducks**

When everything is said and done, it's agreed that M'gann will stay with Batman (she cooks up a nurse outfit and it's kind of unfair that he has to go back to Metropolis while she looks like that). Superman offers him a ride back.

Conner crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. "A ride, really?"

"I can fly, it'll—

"Yeah. I know you can fly and I can't. Everyone knows that. I'm a big boy though—I don't need you to give me a piggy back ride. I can run there myself."

If Superman looks taken aback, Conner really can't bring himself to care. He says his goodbyes to Batman and Robin and everyone else. He squeezes Batman's hand, which is limp and clammy, but through M'gann, Batman lets him know he can feel it. He's a little surprised when Alfred suddenly grabs him and holds him in a hug, which is surprisingly tight, given how old the man is.

And then he runs all the way to Metropolis, to the Wayne Enterprises tower to see if he can find Mr. Kent there.

The concierge won't let him in.

"I'm Superboy," Conner says exasperated, pointing at the big S on his chest. "I'm supposed to be protecting Mr. Kent!"

The concierge looks him over dismissively. "You could be Superman himself, I still wouldn't let you up uninvited."

But just then, Conner feels a hand on his shoulder. It's Mr. Kent.

"That's OK Lou, the Justice League assigned Superboy here to look after me for a while until the whole LexCorp thing dies down. He's staying with me for a few days."

"Very well, sir," Lou says, and Mr. Kent ushers Conner up into the elevators.

Once they're up in Bruce Wayne's penthouse—Batman's penthouse—Conner turns to Mr. Kent.

"Where did you go?" he asks.

"I had some errands to run," he says, pushing back his glasses. Then, he lifts up a bag of groceries and some drycleaning."

Conner knows that he should be angry with Mr. Kent, for leaving when he knows his life is in danger, but he can't bring himself to it, mainly because the day's left him exhausted and because if Mr. Kent hadn't disappeared, he might not have called Ms. Lane and he might not have gone to Gotham, and while Conner doesn't want to claim undue credit… if he hadn't gone to Gotham today, if he hadn't brought M'gann with him, Batman's heart would be in someone else right now.

So he just smiles at Mr. Kent and helps him put the groceries away.

"I ran into Superman," Mr. Kent says. "He said you had a rough day."

"Yeah," Conner nods his head.

"He said you did a great job though," Mr. Kent adds.

Conner can't help the snort. "Better job than he was doing, at any rate."

"Well, I don't know what happened, but whatever you did, Superman seemed very impressed. And he's not an easy man to impress."

Conner smiles, but it's not a pleasant smile. It doesn't reach his eyes and it feels awkward on his face. "You know, it seems like a long time ago now, but there used to be a time I actually gave a damn what Superman thought."

"What changed?" Mr. Kent asks.

"I learned that Superman's affection wasn't worth dying for."

Mr. Kent pushes back his glasses. "Well," he says, "since Superman said you'd had a rough day, I picked you up some chocolate pie at a bakery I like."

Conner smiles, this time earnestly. "Thanks Mr. Kent. You shouldn't have."

"And you know what, Superboy? You don't have to call me Mr. Kent. You can call me Clark."

Mr. K—Clark asks him if he wants to go out or order in. It's been a long, long day, so Conner says he's up for staying in if Mr. Kent doesn't mind.

Clark corrects him again, tells him to call him by his given name, and then asks Conner what he wants to eat. But Conner shrugs, because really he doesn't care, he'd be fine with cold cereal and he tells Clark as much.

"It can't possibly be worse than M'gann's cooking," Conner says. Then he realizes he sounded mean and adds, "You know, I love M'gann more than anything, but it's a good thing I'm invulnerable, or I'm pretty sure her cooking would have killed me already."

Clark chuckles. "Lois is a great cook. Provided the only thing you ever want to eat is PB and J."

Conner looks at Mr. Kent, and then they both burst out laughing.

"Alright then," Clark says when they're done laughing, "Chinese it is."

So they order Chinese food. A lot of it, because Conner refuses to tell Mr. Kent what to order, and Mr. Ke—Clark doesn't just want to rely on his own tastes, so they get a little bit of everything.

Mr. Clark calls it a smorgasbord, which confuses Conner because isn't smorgasbord a Swedish food?

Clark laughs, "Yeah, of course. But people use the word to mean a buffet, you know, when you have a lot of different non-related foods to choose one."

Because it's so much food, they end up just sort of spreading it out on the floor in the living room and eating straight out of the containers. It's the kind of thing that Wally would heartily approve of.

Because they ordered so much, they've gotten eleven fortune cookies.

"Lois would be very angry with me if she knew I was going to eat five whole fortune cookies!" Clark gloats.

"If you like them so much, you can have the sixth one."

"Nah. You can take it," Clark answers.

Conner shrugs and opens the first one of his. They can figure out who gets the last cookie when they get to it. He cracks the cookie open and pops it in his mouth before looking at his fortune.

_Animals make the best companions._ It's not very profound, Conner thinks. Not that he's exactly in a position to disagree.

"What's the fortune?" Clark asks.

"Not really much of a fortune," Conner says. "Animals make the best companions."

Clark burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"Oh, you don't know the fortune-cookie game?" Clark's eyes glimmer with boyish enthusiasm.

Conner shakes his head.

"Ok, so whenever you have a fortune from a fortune cookie, you add the words 'in bed' at the end of the fortune."

"Animals make the best friends… in bed." Conner laughs. "Haha. That's pretty funny. What's yours?"

"I can't even bear to say it," Clark says, and hands over the small piece of paper.

"It is often the soft things that scare us most… in bed." Conner bursts out laughing. "Do all fortunes work as well?"

"Depends on the fortune. If it doesn't work very well, you can add 'in bed with ducks' and that usually helps. Just, because it's more absurd."

Conner reaches for another one. "Plain sight is the best hiding place." Doesn't really work as well does it?" he asks disappointed.

Clark pushes his glasses back. "No. Let's see this one." He cracks another one open. "Past mistakes are hard to remedy." He frowns. "These are pretty terrible."

"At least the cookies are good," Conner says as he opens the next one. "The special girl will make you soar… in bed." Conner chuckles. "See, this one is good! I have to text M'gann about it.

Clark opens another and promptly buries his face in his hands. Conner takes the fortune from him and snorts: _Your tongue is your ambassador._ "There's _no_ way they weren't thinking of this game when they wrote that one!"

"I…" and then Clark apparently can't think of anything else to say, because he just shakes his head.

They read through the rest, until there's only the last cookie left. Finally, they decide to just split the cookie and share the fortune, even if Clark's not sure that you can split fortunes.

"It's not like these are really going to change our lives. I mean, 'Your tongue is your ambassador' isn't really even a fortune. It's just a weird thing to say."

Conner breaks the cookie and Clark does the honor of reading the fortune. Or at least, he's supposed to read it. Instead he crumples it up. "I don't know why the hell they'd put something like this in a cookie," he says.

"What's it say?"

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"Hand it over."

After a second, Clark drops the crumpled slip of paper into Conner's palm. It's just two words: _The truth will bring you sorrow__._

"Well, I guess if I were in bed with ducks, the truth _would_ bring me 'sorrow'."

Clark laughs. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"Though, actually, my girlfriend is pretty kinky. She might like it."

Clark turns beet red. "Jesus kid, you're like what, 18?"

"Biologically speaking. What of it?"

"Nothing, it's just, aren't you a little young to be… you know…"

"Having sex?" Conner asks with a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well… sorta. Where'd you learn about that stuff anyway? You do know about that stuff… right? About protection and, well, things?"

It's too bizarre. For the first time Conner realizes how much older than him Mr.—Clark really is.

"Of course. Well, there's school, and the internet for one, but most of what I know I learned from Batman. He has pamphlets, you know."

"Pamphlets?"

"Yeah. With these useful little diagrams."

"Of, like, the fallopian tubes and things, right?" Clark asks and Conner can't help but laugh. The older man is adorably awkward. He's going to have to move on with his plan to get him laid without M'gann's help, which is sort of too bad, since it would have been a great bonding exercise.

"Yeah. Ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, cervix, vagina, labia, clitoris—all the fun girl parts." It's a bit mean of Conner to say all those words, since Clark is a lot more squeamish about sex than Batman. As he expects, Clark's face turns redder and redder with each word. "Boy parts too. And a couple of positions. Missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, you know, the basics."

Watching Clark so incredibly uncomfortable is oddly satisfying.

"But it all pales to the stuff Batman told me. But I guess, when you're the goddam Batman, just the same old boring stuff isn't really going to do it for you. Actually, it might have been too much, you know, not left enough for exploring, if it weren't for the fact that my girlfriend is a shape shifter, if you know what I mean."

Clark looks absolutely horrified. Red is not a color that suits his face.

"Oh God, I think my mother was right about Batman—I don't know what kind of sane person would leave an impressionable young boy with the World's Most Promiscuous Detective."

"A Boy Scout who didn't want his babysitting badge, I guess," Conner answers.

"And at no point did Batman tell you that a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell?" Clark seems desperate.

"Well, sort of. Batman said some people are not comfortable with sex, and that for some people it's a very private matter. But the culture's a bit different on Mars, because of the telepathy. Martians have completely different perceptions of privacy."

"That makes sense. Hey, have you ever been to Mars?"

Conner shakes his head. "No. M'gann, I get the impression, doesn't really like it very much there. One day, I'd like to go."

"Yeah, me too."

"I bet it'd be really expensive."

Clark smiles mischievously. "Maybe I could get the paper to pay for it. You know, it's not a terrible idea, I can see it now, _Daily Planets_. Actually, I don't know why we don't already have an AP-style news service for Mars and Oa and New Genesis and the other inhabited planets."

"Probably because there's too many, and because interplanetary trade and politics aren't quite significant enough yet to justify it. Give it a few half-centuries."

"That's remarkably perceptive, Superboy," Clark says, apparently impressed, and Conner can't help but smile with pride.

"Hey, Clark, is there anyone special in your life?"

"Sure Superboy, lots of people."

"No, that's not what I meant, and you know it. I mean, someone like M'gann. Maybe a little more human. Or duck-like—whatever floats your boat."

"Oh god, I should never have told you about the ducks. But, no, not at the moment. I'm… waiting."

"You know," Conner says, "A man could get old while waiting."

"You should write fortune cookie fortunes," Clark tells him, then he gets up and starts to clean up.

* * *

Clark insists that Conner should take the master bedroom, since he's already slept there and since Clark has already made up one of the guest beds for himself. But without the panic fueled by Luthor's words, Conner realizes something…

He's sleeping in Batman's bed, and he had what he can only assume is a form of Martian sex with his girlfriend in Batman's bed, while Batman was dying. Conner's not even sure if there are enough words to describe how incredibly creepy that is, and the worst part is that it's him being the creeper.

It makes it hard to sleep, even if the bed is the softest bed he's ever slept on. In the sleepless dark, his thoughts turn down dark and winding paths, until his thoughts turn to Lex Luthor. And once he's opened that can of worms, there's no sleeping. Dawn breaks, and he hasn't slept a wink.

* * *

Conner makes breakfast for the two of them. Batman's Metropolis pantry is amazingly well-stocked. He puts out toast, scrambled eggs, hash browns, an omelet, bacon, milk, and freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Wow," is the first thing Clark says when he steps into the kitchen and sees the spread. "Someone's been busy."

"Couldn't sleep," Conner says with a shrug.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. Just, couldn't sleep. Not a big deal."

"I've had nights like those," Clark says, and Conner wonders if he has. But then he shoos the thought away and just puts a glass of juice in front of Clark before offering him some coffee.

"I have to say, Superboy," Clark says, "this looks amazing."

"What do you want?"

"Would you judge me if I said everything?"

Conner shrugs. "I won't tell Ms. Lane."

Clark grins like the sun and Conner starts to pile a little bit of everything onto a large plate before handing it over to Clark, and then serving himself.

"Wow! Superboy, this is amazing!" Clark exclaims through mouthfuls of bacon and eggs. "This may be the best omelet I've ever tasted. Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"I guess the Genomorphs thought cooking was a more important skill than… well… other things."

Clark tilts his head and Conner recognizes his mistake. "Genomorphs?"

"Um, don't worry about it. And, er, that's off the record."

"Sure Superboy," Clark says. "But, what are the Genomorphs?"

"Creatures. Look, I don't really want to get into it, if it's ok."

"Did these creatures hurt you?" Clark asks

Conner shakes his head. "No. Or at least, not intentionally. It wasn't their fault. I guess I can tell you—you already know I'm a clone. The genomorphs are clones, like me, though, for the most part, they don't look human. They're the ones that taught me the things I knew when I met Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. They taught me to read and write, the names of things, foreign languages, how to cook, apparently. They didn't teach me what any of the recipes in my mind would taste like, or how to eat cookies, or how to make love. I still don't know half of what's rolling around in my head. Sometimes, people will just mention a topic and I realize I know stuff about it after I've told them about it. Or sometimes I'm watching a show and then Kid Flash looks completely puzzled, and that's how I realize I'm watching a Korean drama in Korean. And then other times, there's things everyone knows, like who the Beatles are, or the plot of _Harry Potter_, and I'm left in the dark and I look like an idiot."

"That's rough," Clark says. "But, on the plus side, you have all these amazing skills no one else has, and you still have the opportunity to learn things. Imagine how boring the world would be if there were nothing left to discover."

Conner smiles. "Yeah, I guess that's right."

"Have you tried this omelet?"

"No."

"You should."

He does. "Oh my god. It's absolutely delicious."

"Yep. If the whole superhero thing doesn't work out, you could open a restaurant."

Conner laughs. "No. I really couldn't. M'gann would expect to be a pastry chef, and I don't know if I could afford the insurance."

"Point," Clark laughs.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Author's Notes: **I love Clark. A lot. This is one of my favorite scenes, right up there with the one where Conner and Clark and Lois are all out having lunch and they're talking about apple pie. Well, almost up there. For some reason, the apple pie discussion had me grinning like an idiot the whole time I was writing it. This one isn't on that level, but I just love everything about Clark and Conner chilling in Bruce's Metropolis penhouse pigging out on fortune cookies.

Speaking of which, I didn't pay _that_ much attention to proofing this chapter-I managed to catch a couple of typos on a quick glance-over), but the one thing that was significant that I changed was Conner's response to the last fortune cookie. I can't remember now what it was originally, but it's clear from the old draft that I had reworked the fortune and then hadn't edited Conner's answer accordingly. In the published draft, the fortune said "The truth will bring you sorrow" and Conner answered that the truth would hurt. I briefly considered changing the fortune to _Sometimes the truth hurts_, but opted finally to change Conner's answer, though I don't think Conner's line works as well as the previous one did. Oh well.

Another thing that I'm curious about, is what exactly is the nature of Conner and Clark's evolving relationship is. I think I remember reading something on Station 8 Clark and Conner having a brotherly bond in Season 2. That's not really relevant to me, since I'm basically disregarding everything that happened after I started writing, except for the things I really like. But I have a hard time categorizing the relationship. Lois, I think, is clearly the awesome surrogate aunt, but I'm not sure with Clark. Thoughts on this matter, now and as the case evolves, would be quite welcome, especially as it becomes more of an issue in the sequel I'm writing/planning.


	11. Lois Lane and Other Troublemakers

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 11: Lois Lane and Other Troublemakers**

Since Clark left his car in Kansas when he came with M'gann after Conner, they have to take public transit to Clark's office. Clark stops Conner at the last second. "Maybe you should put on a jacket and sunglasses, or something. You don't want people to recognize you on the bus.

"Right," Conner says, and then he just turns his shirt inside out.

"You think that's enough of a disguise?"

"Should be. It's what I wear to school half the time."

"But, you're not covering your face."

"I'll let you in on a secret, totally off the record…"

Clark leans in, conspiratorially. "What is it?"

"No one looks at my face. No one, outside the Justice League really knows what my face looks like. They just see me, super strong, invulnerable, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, and this big red S on my chest, and they think they know what I look like, but they don't. I bet you no one really knows what Superman looks like. I bet you if he took off that ridiculous blue suit and red cape, and put on a pair of grey sweats, no one would cast a second glance at him."

"You think Superman's costume is ridiculous?" Clark asks, looking slightly scandalized.

Conner just waves his hand down his body. "Do I look like the kind of guy who's into brightly colored spandex?"

Clark pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "No. I guess not."

* * *

Perry White is waiting for Clark when they get in to the newsroom and pounces on Clark the minute he steps through the door.

"Kent!" the man lets out with a thunderous yell, "Where the hell have you been?"

Clark starts to stutter out an answer, but apparently, Mr. White isn't interested, because he cuts him off. "You've got to get your ass down to Gotham—Lane's got a lead—

"A lead?" Clark asks.

"Something fishy's going on with Wayne. Lane's got a lead, but you've got the in. I've already had the travel agency book you on the first train to Gotham, so get you arse down to Central Station."

"But Perry, I've got… well… Superboy," Clark points at him, helplessly.

"Yeah, I thought you'd say that—that's why I got him a ticket too—but that one's coming out of _your _paycheck."

"I… I can pay for it," Conner offers, but Clark shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it," he says, already walking back to the elevators. "It's not like I need the money. But if you're going to be on the train with me, I'm going to have to buy you a real shirt at the station. Can't have you wearing your shirt inside out the whole day."

"That's ok," Conner says again, "I have money."

"No, seriously, my treat. It'll be a souvenir from this crazy trip."

* * *

There's only one shop that sells shirts in the whole train station; a gift shop. Almost every single shirt in the damn place has the Superman logo on it. Some have the word Metropolis on them too. A couple even have Superman on them. Finally, Conner resorts to his X-ray vision and finds a purple shirt that says "My friend went to Metropolis and all I got was this lame shirt."

"Bingo!" he says, and grabs the shirt, handing it to Clark.

"You sure this is the one you want?" Clark asks skeptically.

"It's the lamest thing ever, it's hilarious. Besides, I can give it to W—Kid Flash for his souvenir collection, and it'll never see the light of day again after that."

So Clark shrugs and forks over the money to the cashier. Then they go to the platform and wait for the train to come. Conner doesn't change until they're onboard. He goes to the bathroom to change, but keeps a watch on Clark through his x-ray vision.

The train ride to Gotham is long, although Clark assures him it's faster than flying—you don't need to go to the airport or stand in line or have a passport with you. But it's long, and it's boring, and Conner didn't sleep a wink, so without meaning to, he eventually drifts off to sleep, head resting against Clark's shoulder.

They're staying at the Gotham Holiday Inn, which isn't the nicest Holiday Inn in the world, but it's the closest hotel to the hospital where Bruce Wayne is staying, which gives it all the points it could possibly need. Ms. Lane meets them in the lobby—apparently she's already checked them in. She pushes a pair of key cards into Clark's hands, and then steers the two of them into the elevator up to her room.

"I already ordered room service," she tells them, as she pushes them in. Indeed, there's a cart in the middle of the room with three rather uninspired-looking chicken Caesar salads. One of them doesn't even have any dressing on it—and Ms. Lane hands it to Clark. She shoves one of the other salads into Conner's hands, and then hands him a hundred dollar bill.

"Go buy yourself some clothes that aren't an embarrassment. Or some magazines. Whatever kids these days are into," she tells him.

"I'm supposed to be looking after Clark," he tells her, bewildered.

"Yes. But I need to talk to him about super secret reporter things. Freedom of the press, and all that."

Conner just sort of looks at her. "I'm not leaving Clark alone in a crazy town like Gotham."

"Don't you understand, kid? This is about the first amendment! About freedom and democracy! About me getting the Pulitzer! If you don't leave, then the terrorists win."

Conner laughs, "I can stand outside the door, if you would like."

Ms. Lane does not look amused. "I know you have super hearing kid."

"What's this about Lois?" Clark asks.

"I'm not sure. But I'm sure it's big. Really big. Front page big for sure. Maybe Pulitzer big. And it's _my_ story. I wouldn't bring you in, except apparently you have a bigger in with Bruce than I do right now."

"And why can't Superboy stay?" Clark asks.

"Because he's Justice League," Ms. Lane answers.

"And?"

"You're not going to leave?" she asks.

"Fraid not," Conner tells her.

"What can I say to get you to leave?" she asks.

"Nothing, I'm afraid."

"What if I show you my tits, will that do?"

"WHAT?" Clark asks. Conner can just picture him, jumping a foot into the air.

"Oh come off it Smallville. The kid's legal, and it's not like I've never shown my breasts off to get a story. Better than Mardi Gras beads, anyway."

"Sorry Ms. Lane, I'm sure you've got perfectly attractive breasts, but I'm sort of already taken."

"See, I knew I shouldn't have signed your book. Then I'd have ammo."

Conner smiles. "Besides, I have x-ray vision."

Clark's face goes even redder. Ms. Lane just smiles. "You're cute kid. You should give lessons to Superman."

"Lois!" Clark cries out desperately.

"What? I wouldn't mind it if Superman used his x-ray vision, you know, once in a while. Seriously, there's no justice in the world when a boyscout wins the super power lottery. All those delicious powers, and all he does with them is save the world."

"You can't be serious!"

"Sure I am. I know you don't have the imagination for it, Smallville, and I don't think Superman has the imagination for it either, which is a shame, but Superboy knows what I'm talking about."

"Yeah I do!" Conner answers, suppressing a laugh. Ms. Lane puts her hand up, and Conner high-fives her. "I'm still not leaving, though," he says.

Ms. Lane's shoulders sag. "OK kid, but then you have to promise to stay out of this—like a super-hero equivalent of things being off the record. I don't publish that you love chocolate cake, and you don't get in the way of my story, ok?"

"As long as no one gets hurt," Conner says.

"That's the best I'm going to get, isn't it?"

"Pretty much."

"You drive a much harder bargain than Superman. Please don't give him lessons about this."

"No worries about that Ms. Lane," he answers, "I don't think I'll be in the same room with him long enough to give him any kind of lesson."

"That's too bad, because he really could use some lessons in being a cad and having fun."

"So…" Clark interrupts, "Story. You said it was big."

"Oh, right," Ms. Lane's face is suddenly serious. "Something is going on with Bruce."

"You mean, something is going on like the Joker almost killed him and now he's recovering?" Clark asks flatly, but Conner is beginning to feel something very bad in his stomach.

"No. I mean, when I came down here, the hospital was on total lockdown. I bribed one of the orderlies. It wasn't just the GCPD, but the _Justice League_. And not just one of the kids—no offense Superboy—but the heavy hitters. Black Canary, Martian Manhunter and Superman."

"And this is how you convinced Perry to give us an all-expenses paid vacation to Gotham?" Clark asks.

"Clark, you know the only thing I have to do to get Perry to sign off on a trip is to tell him I have a hunch—as long as it doesn't look like I'm just trying to get a vacation. And boy do I have a hunch."

"I don't know Lois," Clark says. He pushes his glasses up. "I think you're making mountains out of molehills. I mean, look, I published a story about Luthor and the Justice League assigned me Superboy, _and_ they have Kid Flash, Artemis, Miss Martian, and Aqualad looking after my parents. Given that the Joker, a notoriously dangerous psychotic attacked Bruce, I don't think it's that weird that the League would appoint a security detail to Bruce and make sure Joker didn't come back to finish the job."

Ms. Lane smiles like a cat looking at a canary, and suddenly, Conner feels a headache coming on. "Except," she says, "for the fact that they didn't do it at first. At first, it was just the GCPD. If they were really worried about Joker, they would have assigned him a special guard immediately after the incident.

"And there's more. It doesn't make sense that they'd have Superman, Black Canary and Martian Manhunter if they were worried about the Joker. Superman and Black Canary make sense—but the Joker's mind is too cracked for Martian Manhunter. The last telepath to try to look at Joker's brain is still drooling on herself. And why Superman _and_ Black Canary? I just don't buy it."

"Martian Manhunter has a lot of abilities other than telepathy. He can make objects levitate and he can phase through matter."

"Yeah, but, here's my big thing: where is Batman in all of this?"

"Didn't Superman say he was busy with some League things?"

"Yeah," Ms. Lane answer, "Batman is going to stay away from Gotham while Joker is on the loose? If you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you."

"Maybe he's working on bringing Joker in?" Clark asks.

"Perfect theory, except there's no evidence to sustain it. My contacts in the GCPD say Batman hasn't stopped by Gordon's office in days, and the Batsignal hasn't been answered since Joker broke out of Arkham. So, something's rotten in Gotham.

"And that's just the Justice League aspect."

"What do you mean?"

"So, according to some other people I bribed, Bruce Wayne was brain dead. And then he wasn't. I have the EEG printouts to prove it."

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure for certain, but this is my theory: when the reports started coming out that Bruce was dead, it was because he crashed several times during the night. Finally, they had to put a pacemaker in and keep him in artificial respiration. But he was brain dead. The Justice League did something to save him. If I had to guess, I'd say it was Martian Manhunter—he showed up a while after Superman and Black Canary did. But it could be Kryptonian technology, or something."

"But what's the story?"

"And that's the question," Ms. Lane says.

Conner is very, very quiet. Lois Lane is inches away from finding out that Bruce Wayne is Batman, and he doesn't know if she's the kind of person who would print a story like that.

It's a serious problem: Conner can't leave Clark, and yet, he knows he needs to keep an eye on Ms. Lane. Worse, Clark is tapping at his computer like a maniac and there's nothing on TV which means that there's nothing Conner can do but worry about whatever Ms. Lane is getting up to.

And he's hungry. It just keeps getting worse and worse.

"Hey, Clark?" he says.

"Yeah?" Clark asks without lifting his eyes from the computer screen.

"You wanna grab dinner soon?"

"Hmm?"

"Dinner. Soon?"

Clark looks up, looking puzzled. "Isn't it a bit early for dinner?" he asks.

"It's almost eight," Conner answers.

Clark looks down at his screen, and pushes up his glasses. "Oh. So, it is."

Conner's stomach rumbles.

"You're hungry?" Clark asks, surprised.

"Well, yeah. It's been eight hours since lunch and, well, the salad wasn't the most substantial thing in the world. How are you _not_ hungry?"

"Oh. Well… you know… I… I'd lose my head if it wasn't stuck on my shoulders. When I get really into a story, sometimes I forget to eat."

"Oh."

"But you're right. It's been a long time since lunch. Why don't you go ahead and order up some room service?"

"I was thinking… we could see if Ms. Lane has had dinner yet, and then we could all three of us go out?" At least that way, he can keep an eye on Ms. Lane, and with any luck, finagle it into a date, even without M'gann.

"Superboy, you're a genius," Clark says, throwing his cell at Conner. "She's 2 on speed dial."

"Hello," Ms. Lane answers.

"Hi, Ms. Lane? It's Superboy."

"Hey kid. What's up?"

"Clark and I were thinking of going out to dinner. We wanted to know if you wanted to join us."

"Nah. I already ate," Ms. Lane answers.

"Figures. I guess we'll just order room service then." He picks up the menu and flips through it. "No way Clark's gonna go for a salad again. Hey, Ms. Lane, do you know if the burgers here are any good?"

"You play dirty, kid. Alright. I'll go out for dinner."

"Cool. We'll see you in the lobby in ten minutes?"

"Sure."

Conner hangs up with a smile on his face. Then he takes out his League communicator and calls Robin.

"What's up?" Robin asks. He sounds very tired.

"Not much. How are things on your end?"

"Been better."

"I know."

"The euphoria of not being dead has worn off. He's freaking out about how he can't even wiggle his toes; it's being a real drag on Miss M."

"Oh god."

"Yeah. Pretty much. You think you can swing by tomorrow? I think M'gann really needs you."

"Of course. I'll do my best. What about my mission though?"

"Oh. We can switch it off. I'll cover Clark for you."

"Send me the info, ok? I've got some things I've got to discuss with Batman. But, right now, it's late and I'm hungry. The three of us are going out to dinner. This is your town, any restaurant suggestions?"

"Is this part of that project you asked M'gann to help with?" Robin asks.

"It could be."

"Ah. In that case, I know just the place. I'm hacking reservations for you guys right now, and I'm going to text you the address."

"And it's not too expensive?"

"Nothing the _Daily Planet_ travel reimbursement budget won't cover."

"Thanks Rob."

"No problem."

He hangs up and looks at Clark, who's already up and dressed and putting his laptop in the room's safe.

"So, I just got Robin to give us a dinner recommendation. And he's working on reservations."

"Cool."

Conner's already dressed, so he just gets up, and soon, they're in the lobby, waiting for Ms. Lane.

Robin's recommendation turns out to be more than solid. It's a nice little French bistro with a jazz theme going on, called Eclaire de Lune. It's cool without being swanky, although in his ridiculous purple Metropolis souvenir t-shirt he does feel a little underdressed. The waiter takes them to their table right away—Conner wonders if Robin stole someone else's reservation, but he doesn't dwell too long on the matter. Even though she's already eaten, Ms. Lane is tempted into ordering a French onion soup. Clark tries to go for a croque madame, but Ms. Lane glares at him, so he has to settle for a croque monsieur, and Ms. Lane forces him to switch the fries out for a side salad, which adds two dollars to the price of the meal. Conner goes for the classic: steak frites, _saignant_.

"Nice accent," Ms. Lane says. "You speak French?"

"_Ouais_," he answers.

"Where's you learn?" she asks him.

"Same place I learned English… and Chinese and Korean and Spanish and Arabic, and Ancient Sanskrit."

"How many languages do you speak?"

"At last count? At least twelve, I mean, if you don't count dialects."

"Dialects?"

"Of course Ms. Lane," he answers in BBC English—"Humans have very many different dialects—it's a bit more prominent in the variations between Hexagon French and Quebequois French than it is in American and English, but there are nuances."

"You are shitting me," Ms. Lane tells him. "You're just putting on a fake British accent you picked up watching _Inspector Spacetime_."

So Conner says something completely unintelligible in a thick Cockney, with some rhyming slang thrown in.

Ms. Lane blinks. "Oh-kay then. So tell me this, how in the world is it that you don't actually know how many languages you know?"

"Is this an interview?" he asks.

"Is this still off the record?"

"Naturally."

"Then no. It's just me being nosy. This is why I got into reporting. It's the only place where not knowing how to mind your own business gets you prizes. Well, I guess daytime TV too, but that's trashy."

"Well, Ms. Lane, what's your father's name?"

"Sam, what of it?"

"Before I asked you, you weren't thinking of his name. It's not something you consciously know you know at every minute of the day, but when you need to know, you remember it, right? And there's plenty of things like that—I'd imagine your birthday—

"Nope. I have no idea when my birthday is, and neither does anybody else outside of the US Government and the _Daily Planet_ HR office."

Conner and Clark both laugh. "Yeah, ok. But still, it's like your dad's name. There's a bunch of stuff I know, but unless I actively think about it, I don't know that I know it. Whenever I remember something that I don't know I know, Kid Flash calls it a Wikipedia moment."

"Really?" Clark asks. "So, if I were to ask you the population of, say, North Rhelasia?"

"The population of North Rhelasia in 2009 was estimated to be 24,051,218," Conner says automatically.

"So that was what was going on with the fruit of the poisonous tree," Ms. Lane says.

Conner nods.

"What do you know about Saint Augustine?"

"Augustine of Hippo was a theologian."

"That's it?"

"That's it. It's pretty weird. My knowledge tends to get better with more modern developments and scientific concepts, though there are some pretty significant gaps."

"Like what?"

"I didn't know about Lex Luthor or Kryptonite. I did know, vaguely about you, Ms. Lane, and Clark, and Jimmy and Mr. White. Friends of Superman."

"So, I'm correct in assuming that you were… shall we say… programmed?"

Conner shrugs. "I guess it's as good a word as any."

"And you don't know the full extent of what the people who programmed you put in your head."

"Erm… no. Not really."

"That must be scary," Ms. Lane says.

"Scary? No. Why would it be scary?"

Ms. Lane doesn't answer.

"It's, more… frustrating. I was telling Clark, how, sometime I'll be watching TV and then one of my teammates will walk in and not understand what I'm watching, and that's how I realize I'm not watching something in English.

"Actually, for a while, it was just really annoying. Robin and Kid Flash, they like to pull pranks—especially Robin, but when they're together it's the worst. Anyway, for a while, Robin and Kid Flash, after they found out about the Wikipedia powers, they would just ask me about the most ridiculously obscure topics, and it's not like I can stop once I start. They had me recite the plot of Castle of Otranto for them, and then they had me talk about the author, and then… well, you know how you can waste hours on Wikipedia, just by clicking one link after another? They wasted an entire afternoon that way."

"You know Conner, I really shouldn't be telling you this, because I want you to tell me everything ever, because that's just who I am, but you maybe shouldn't be telling people that when they ask you about obscure topics you can't help yourself but give a little summary about the topic—I can see supervillains using it against you."

Conner buries his face in his hands. "That's the lamest Achilles heel ever, isn't it?"

"Nah," Ms. Lane says, "The Achilles heel is the lamest Achilles heel ever."

"Besides," Clark butts in, "an Achilles heel doesn't double as a superpower."

* * *

Dinner is going swimmingly—Clark and Ms. Lane are laughing—both have had a little too much to drink. The food is exquisite, the music lovely. Best of all, Ms. Lane seems thoroughly distracted from Batman.

Eventually she relents and lets Clark order dessert. True to form, Clark orders a tarte tatin a la mode. Ms. Lane picks a crème brulee, and for himself, Conner just orders a hot chocolate. Right after ordering dessert, Ms. Lane excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

"Hey, Clark?" Conner asks.

"Yeah buddy?"

"What's wine taste like?"

"You can have a sip of mine, if you promise not to tell Batman or Lois."

"Deal."

Conner grabs Clark's wineglass and brings it to his lips. The wine smells strange, fruity as expected, with something more. He takes a drink and grimaces.

Clark laughs. "Yeah. Alcohol is definitely an acquired taste."

"No… it tastes nice. I like the taste… it's just… it kinda burns on the way down, doesn't it?"

For a second, Conner thinks Clark is looking at him like he's grown a second head, but then the looks passes and Conner finds himself wondering if he just imagined it.

"Yes, Superboy, I suppose it does."

Conner hears Ms. Lane walking back and hurriedly hands the glass back to Clark, but she's stopped by their waitress.

"I just wanted to let you know," the waitress says, "that you have a lovely son."

Conner tenses his hand into a fist as Ms. Lane laughs nervously. "Oh… he's not my son."

"Oh, sorry. Well then, how lovely to see how well you get along with your boyfriend's son."

"Clark?" Ms. Lane laughs. "No, he's not related to him either."

"Really?" the waitress asks. "I could have sworn the boy was his spitting image. I need to start remembering to wear my glasses."

"Or contacts," Ms. Lane suggests, before scurrying back to the table.

"Waitress must be new," Ms. Lane says, once she's sitting down.

"Would explain why the service's been so lousy," Clark says as he pushes back his glasses.

Conner's about to say something funny when suddenly he sees a flash of purple out of the corner of his eye and his heart skips a beat.

Then he sneezes—or pretends to—and spills red wine all over Clark and Ms. Lane. "Oh jeez guys, I'm so sorry," he says as he gets up and starts to wipe at them with their napkins."

"No, it's Ok Superboy—I'll just go clean up in the bathroom."

He follows them both to the bathrooms, and once they're inside, he uses his heat vision to melt the door handles.

Then he calls it in: "This is Superboy in Gotham, requesting backup. The Joker just walked in to Éclair de Lune, where I'm having dinner with Clark Kent and Lois Lane."

Clark and Ms. Lane are locked in the bathrooms, which means they should be safe. Unless Joker has a bomb. Conner tries not to think about that—it's a bridge he'll cross if and when he gets to it. He takes the ridiculous purple Metropolis t-shirt off; his Superboy shirt is right underneath.

When he gets back into the main dining room, Joker is seated at a table in the middle of the room. Harley Quinn is standing at the entrance with a machine gun, which explains why no one has left. Terror is written on all the diner's faces.

"Hi Supey," the Joker says with an evil glint in his eyes. "Won't you join me for dinner?"

Conner sends Joker his most menacing death glare, but the Clown Prince of Crime is unphased.

"Come on kiddo. Join ol' Uncle Joker," he says with a big smile on his face. "Or, if you prefer, I can just detonate the Joker Venom bomb I'm wearing. It's about twenty thousand doses. Probably won't kill you. Definitely won't kill me. But, you know, can't really vouch for the sad sacks."

Conner looks him over once with x-ray vision. He's wearing something that looks like it could probably be a Joker Venom bomb.

He also has a little lead box on him. Doubtless there's kryptonite. Doubtless a gift from Luthor.

If Conner doesn't sit with Joker, he'll detonate the bomb, and without the antidote, he won't be able to save more than one of the guests. Won't be able to save both Clark and Ms. Lane. Which would put a big dent in his plans to fix them up together.

But, if Conner does do as Joker wants, the bastard will pull out his kryptonite, and then all bets are off.

So Conner goes with Option C—None of the above.

He runs to Joker at the speed of sound, grabs the madman's hands in his, and then squeezes hard enough to crush every last bone in the fucker's hands. Conner pulls his arms out of their sockets, just for good measure. He drops Joker just in time to catch the storm of fire coming from Harley's machine gun. He speeds up to her, grabs the gun out of her hands, and then bends it over her wrists as an impromptu set of handcuffs.

"Be quiet and don't do anything, or I'll do to you what I did to him," he tells her.

Her face contorts with hatred and she sticks her tongue out. It's an odd look. He just sort of pushes her back unceremoniously and returns to Joker. Having a bomb of Joker Venom strapped on to the Joker is too dangerous, so he rips the Joker's jacket off, and then cuts the bomb vest off the clown. Joker doesn't so much as hiss out once in pain, and his hateful gaze is infuriatingly amused, more than anything else.

Conner takes the lead box out of Joker's pant pocket and puts it away for safe keeping.

Finally, Joker chuckles.

"You're ruthless kid, I like that. You've got stones. Unlike Mommy Supes."

Conner crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

"Clever. Superman has no testicles, ergo he's my mother. Now I know why you have to use poison gas to get people to laugh at your jokes."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. No sense of humor. No finesse for fine jokes. The reason Supes is your mommy, is on account of how no bothered to ask for his permission."

It takes Conner a second to process what Joker's saying… the analogy makes him sick to his stomach—he'd never considered the idea before, and for a second he wonders if that's why Superman hates him. If it could be that his existence makes Superman feel violated.

Then he remembers he's talking to the fucking Joker.

"Eunoch jokes are juvenile. Rape jokes are just tacky."

"Sheesh. Everyone's a critic."

"Probably just 'cuz you suck. Now it's time for you to go to Arkham." He picks Joker up, taking care to hurt him as much as possible. "I can't believe I bothered to call this in."

"So when's Bats getting here?" Joker asks.

The damn clown's obsessed with Batman. He just wants his attention. Conner knows all about wanting attention.

"He's not. He has bigger fish to fry than a sad little man who can't even get a job as a birthday clown."

For the first time, the smile falls off of Joker's face. "Bigger fish to fry?" The putrid sound of madness and hatred that comes out of Joker's voice can't be called a laugh. Joker stands up, his eyes alight with the cold fire of absolute blinding hatred. "Bigger fish to fry? Do you know how many people I've killed? One thousand, three hundred, fifty three—give or take a couple of dozens. Each and every single one a lovingly crafted murder for Batsy. Before your League of Super Friends came along, there was no one else, but me. Scarecrow, Ivy, Two-Face, hell, the whole of the mob—none of them mattered. As soon as I set foot out of Arkham, Batsy would drop everything. He wouldn't eat, he wouldn't sleep—it was just me. All about me. And we'd run like a couple of crazy kids painting the town red and setting the woods on fire. We'd stay up all night and watch the sun rise together.

"And you people want to take him away from me.

"I won't allow it. I won't allow you to take Batsy from me, from Gotham. I won't allow you to send other people into this town. This is _our_ wonderland.

"And you know what? I'll kill every last man, woman, and child in this city, if that's what it takes to get Batsy to come back home. But I don't think I have to."

Joker smiles again. The madness is gone from his eyes though the cruelty remains. There's a look of chilling calculation in his eyes that makes Conner reach out to him, to grab him, to end this farce and take the monster back to Gotham.

And then Joker whistles a high note and Conner's leg—where he put the lead box—explodes in pain and his knee falls out.

"Harley!" Joker screams, "Get your pretty behind here!"

And Harley's there in an instant, next to Conner, reaching into his pocket and taking out a sizeable chunk of kryptonite—it's at least three times the size of the chunk Luthor had. Conner's leg feels like it's on fire and he's having trouble breathing.

"Put it near his heart, Harl," Joker instructs, and Harley does as she's told. Conner's starting to see black spots.

"See, Supes Jr., I got this rock out of storage when I realized there was a flying pest infestation in Gotham—and now it's going to help me with my other flying pest problem. Because, I figure, I don't have to kill the nine million people who live in GothamCity to get Batsy to come back. All I have to do, is kill you, because that big S on your chest is a big fat lie—really you're one of Batsy's strays."

Joker kneels next to him and caresses Conner's cheek with his mangled hands.

Then he kisses Harley's temple. "Harl, babe, you know what to do."

"Sure thing, Mr. J," she says with a smile, and even though her hands are still tied together with the machine gun, she takes her free hand and pinches Conner's nose. The chunk of kryptonite is a centimeter above his lips. He can't breathe. He knows he can't open his mouth, but he can't breathe. He can't breathe. And he can't really see anything anymore. And everything hurts. And he can't breathe.

He can't breathe.

Finally, he can't help it—he gasps for air.

He gasps for air and Harley moves the piece of kryptonite into his mouth. It grazes his teeth—it's an odd sensation, even more so because it doesn't hurt as much as he had thought.

With the last ounce of his strength, he breathes out—cold and hard. It's enough to freeze Harley's fingers and push her hand a foot away from him. When the kryptonite is gone, it's like magic—he can see again. He drags himself away from Harley. Feet are like miles, but he's able to scurry a yard away from the kryptonite, far enough for the pain to subside. Far enough for him to be able to get up and blow Harley to the other end of the room, and once she's there, holding the kryptonite so far away from him, he's strong enough to be able to freeze her in place against the wall.

He grabs joker by the throat.

Conner smiles. "As I was saying, I can't believe I bothered to call this in."

And then, because apparently the universe has a sense of humor, his backup arrives. Superman bursts in, ready to save the day, then stops dead in his tracks.

"I've got it all under control, you can go back to Metropolis."

"Put him down, Superboy," Superman says slowly.

"Yeah, right. Who knows what else the Clown has up his sleeve. I'm taking him to Arkham. Unless you want to fly him there for the credit," Superboy answers.

"Oh. OK. No. Um. You can take him. If you want. Erm. I'll take Harley? Good job."

Conner rolls his eyes. "You thought I was going to kill him."

"What? No…" Superman is crap at lying. "It's just… the way you're holding him… and his hands… and… he hurt—

"A lot of people. And he threatened to kill every citizen of Gotham. And a few seconds ago, Harley was trying to force-feed me kryptonite. So yeah. He totally deserves it. But that's not my job, not my place, and I know if I did it, Batman would never forgive me, so it's not worth it."

Joker blows a big wet raspberry, spreading drops of spittle all over Conner's face.

Conner squeezes harder. He smiles and pulls Joker close. "Though, if I crushed your voice box, I'm not sure Batman would mind."

And for the first time, Conner sees fear in Joker's eyes. He thinks he rather likes the look. He squeezes just enough harder to make Joker hoarse for a week.

"Anyway, I'm going to run him over to Arkham. He probably should see a doctor. I locked Clark in the bathroom. Can you hold down the fort until I get back?"

"Yeah, sure," Superman says, clearly disconcerted at getting assigned to be a babysitter. Conner swings Joker over his back like a sack of potatoes and runs him to Arkham. The trip there and back takes 30 seconds. When he gets back, Superman is melting Harley out—apparently someone already took the Kryptonite away from her. Superman's holding the lead box, which is closed again.

Since Superman seems to have the Harley situation under control, Conner goes to let Ms. Lane and Clark out.

"Superboy, can you help me with this?"

Conner rolls his eyes, but goes to help Superman defrost Harley. Then, when she's out of the ice, Superman awkwardly mumbles something about a job well done and being glad that Superboy is ok.

"You don't have to lie," Conner tells him. Superman frowns, but he recovers quickly, and he flies out with Harley, the lead box, and the bomb, at the speed of light.

Ms. Lane is banging against the door and screaming bloody murder, so he gets her out first. The restaurant manager begs him to be careful with the door, so he can't just rip it out—he has to cut the melted lock out with his heat vision. When he's done, Lois Lane gives him a death glare that makes the Joker seem downright humanitarian.

Then he turns his attention to the men's bathroom and opens the door. Clark is sitting on the toilet, live-blogging the event on his smart phone. He pushes his glasses up and smiles at Conner.

"Superboy Singlehandedly Subdues Joker: Ace of Knaves Arrives in Arkham," he says as he shows the screen of the thing to Superboy. "_Planet_ just broke the story. Very impressive. Congrats."

"It was nothing," Conner says.

"Not nothing. It was damn impressive."

"Clark, watch your language or I'll tell Martha," Lois says in a tone that implies she's incredibly pissed at Clark for scooping her. She snatches the phone out of his hands. "Jeeze Clark. This is like… 300 words. You've got proper punctuation. Not a single typo. How the hell did you manage to even type this so fast on the tiny screen?"

"Swype," he answers with a shrug and grabs the phone back.

"Ugh. You know, it was bad enough when you were the fastest touch typist on staff, but this is ridiculous."

"You're just jealous."

"No. I'm not, you want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because Superboy's going to give me an exclusive interview."

"Ms. Lane, you know I can't do that."

"Oh, you can, and you will, you know why?"

"Um, because, I'm not going to?"

"Because, when you change your superhero handle, you're going to want a reliable journalist to tell the world how fantastic and talented you are."

"Why would I change my superhero name?"

"Well, first off… you're not going to be Super_boy_ when you're fifty, right? And the other thing is… you just single handedly defeated Joker and Harley Quinn; you're clearly more than ready to step out of Superman's shadow."

"Ok, Ms. Lane, I'll give you an interview when I change it. But, until then, everything's still off the record, and the JL PR people will have to sign off on the article."

"And, are the JL PR people named Batman?" Ms. Lane asks.

Conner laughs. "Yeah. Probably. So you'll have to wait until he gets back from the mission he's on."

Ms. Lane shakes her head. "You're a nightmare, you know that kid? And you know, I haven't told you this, because it's adorable that you call me Ms. Lane, but you can call me Lois."

"If you like that I call you Ms. Lane, I'll keep calling you that."

"Oh, stop," she says and ruffles his hair. "Come on. On account of how you can't legally drink, we're going out for ice cream to celebrate. And since he scooped me _again _Clark is paying."

Lois puts an arm around Conner's shoulders and starts to lead him out. A few steps forward, she turns around to Clark, who hasn't budged. "Well, come on Clark, I bet you we can find a place with milkshakes." And then she puts her other arm around Clark's shoulders.

Conner smiles at the picture they must make. And at the fact that it seems like his evil plan to get Lois to notice Clark is probably working.

**To be continued...**

**Author's Notes: **I'll be honest, I have no idea why I chose to break this chapter up this way. When I originally broke the story up into chapters this one was going to be called _Lois Smells a Pulitzer_. I like this one better, but only marginally so.


	12. Gifts

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 12: Gifts**

Clark's just gotten in the shower when the door rings. Conner looks at his watch—Robin's not due for another half hour. An x-ray glance through the door confirms it: it isn't Robin on the other side. But it's a young redheaded man with bad acne, and he doesn't seem to be holding any weapons, bombs, or lead boxes just a box with an iPad. And he has internal organs in all the right places, so he's probably not an alien or a robot. So Conner opens the door.

"Superboy?" the redhead asks.

Conner rolls his eyes and points to the El crest on his chest.

"Yeah. Right, um, delivery for you."

Conner sighs. He can think of only one person in the world who would send him a package at the hotel without telling him, and that means that the package can't possibly be good news.

The note attached confirms his suspicions. _Sorry I'm a couple of months late. Happy belated birthday. Love, Lex._

There's a moment of confusion, because Independence Day is still a few weeks away, but then Conner realizes that Luthor isn't talking about the day he left Cadmus.

He should chuck the package out the window, or return to sender.

But curiosity killed the cat.

He signs the delivery boy's clipboard _SB_ and shuts the door in his face.

Conner looks over to the bathroom. Clark likes to take long showers, he's learned by now. So, against his better judgment, he opens the box, takes the iPad out, and turns it on.

There's an assortment of the normal icons. Apparently, Luthor even bothered to have Angry Birds and Cut the Rope downloaded to the thing. It'd be really funny if he just kept the iPad and used it to watch TV and play Angry Birds. It'd be $400 of Luthor's money down the drain and a cool toy for himself.

Or, he could hand the thing over to Robin, who could look through all its data.

Instead, he taps the white icon with the El crest.

The words "Project Kr" flash on, and then, there's a menu hierarchy.

_• Origin of Project Kr: Extraction of Source DNA_

_• Attempts 1 through 84_

_• Bizarro_

_• Superboy_

He turns the volume off, and then he clicks on the _Bizarro_ tag and finds the video coverage of Bizarro's final hours. He's so engrossed in the horror of watching Bizarro, his predecessor, fall to bits as he unwittingly destroys buildings in Metropolis that he misses the knock at the door, and doesn't even notice when the door opens.

"What are you watching?" Lois's voice catches him off guard and makes him jump three feet in the air. "Sheesh kid. What's wrong?"

"N…nothing," Conner stammers and puts the iPad face down on the bed. Lois reaches for the thing. His cry of "Stop!" only encourages her.

The color drains from her face. "Holy shit kid, what the hell is this?"

"Belated birthday present from Luthor," he says, trying to come across as nonchalant, and failing miserably. He's sure he's being very, _very_ chalant.

"And you thought watching that would be a good idea, because…?"

"I wanted to see how Superman dealt with the last one."

He wouldn't have thought it was possible, but Lois's face becomes even paler.

"You think… Superman would… to you?"

Conner shrugs and grabs the iPad out. He brings up the video of Superman nearly killing him. Somehow, he knew Luthor would put it in. He shows it to Lois. "Sure. Why not? It's not like he wouldn't like to."

"Superboy," Lois sighs. "Superman was under the influence of red kryptonite. He doesn't want to hurt you."

"I know what red kryptonite feels like. Remember, the reason he was exposed to it was because it was in me. It didn't make him _feel_ anything. It didn't make him _want_ anything. It just got rid of his inhibitions. And I mean, look, I get it. He hates me. I make his skin crawl. Can't really say I blame him."

"Look, Superboy," she sits next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. "I know Superman. I think I know him better than anybody. He's the best person I've ever known. I think it freaked him out when you showed up. I mean, you weren't there when Bizarro… that was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. And if he got to know you, I promise you, he'd think you were a fantastic kid. But even if you were a snot nosed brat—he wouldn't hate you. I don't think he hates anyone. Except maybe Darkseid, Luthor and Brainiac… But you've never tried to destroy a planet, so, yeah. I promise you, Superman doesn't hate you, and he doesn't want to hurt you."

He meets her violet eyes.

"You know Superman better than anyone, right?"

"I mean… maybe not better than Batman, but—

"So, what's his secret identity?"

Lois looks taken aback.

"You didn't know, right? But yeah, he has a secret identity. Batman said."

"But… he doesn't wear a mask…"

"I don't wear a mask. None of my classmates know I'm Superboy."

Lois is quiet. Finally, she just yanks the iPad out of Conner's hands and before he can stop her, she throws it to the floor and sinks her heel through the screen.

"Luther sent that to mess with your head. You should hand it over to Batman and have him look through it. There may be useful information. But I'm not going to let you play right into Luthor's hands. You know how I know Superman doesn't hate you? Because Luthor wants you to hate Superman. Luthor wants you to be afraid of Superman. And if Luthor wants those things, then Luthor knows that you hating Superman and being afraid of him will hurt Superman. And Luthor doesn't know Superman. Luthor couldn't _possibly_ begin to want to pray to hope to have half a chance of comprehending Superman, because everything that Superman is, Luthor can't even begin to imagine.

"But there's one thing Luthor knows about Superman, better than you, me, Batman, or even Superman himself, and that's how to _hurt_ Superman."

When Clark steps out of the shower, fully dressed, he finds Conner and Lois sitting silently on the bed with glum looks on their faces.

"Gee, guys, why the long faces? Did I miss something?"

Lois leans over and picks the broken iPad off the floor and tosses it to Clark. "Gift from Luthor. Superidiot here was watching video coverage of Bizarro's final hours."

Clark steps back. Then falls down on the bed next to Conner.

"I'm sorry," Clark says.

"Yeah. It's ok. Luthor's a bastard."

"You know," Lois says, "Clark interviewed Superman after, well, you know. It was a beautiful piece. Superman and Clark both poured their souls into it. It should have gotten a Pulitzer."

"That was the first time I ever really hated Luthor. I mean, _really_ hated him. He laughed, you know, when… when Superman confronted him about Bizarro—the unrepentant monster laughed. And then he went on the evening news and explained it was an unfortunate accident and threw a couple hundred million around, and no one cared." Clark leans his head back. "I just don't get it. I don't get Luthor."

Lois lets out a snort. "I don't know if there's anything _to_ get. He's an evil little worm."

Clark shakes his head, still looking up at the ceiling. "No. I still don't get it. I mean… I get Brainiac. Brainiac's a soulless machine whose only regard is the preservation of data. He's nothing more than data. His body can be blown to smithereens, and he survives. So, I can understand why he let Krypton explode, how he could prevent… prevent Jor-El from saving it. And Darkseid—there's nothing but death on Apokolypse. I understand Darkseid. I understand Mogul and Kanjar Ro and Synestro, and I can understand that Ra's al Ghul and Vandal Savage have been around for so long they've lost their humanity. Hell—I understand Joker, of all people—he's completely insane.

"But Luthor? He had a totally normal childhood with nice parents and a lovely sister. He's not crazy. He's got everything—and I mean, if it was just the white collar stuff—but it's not." He holds the iPad out. "I mean-_this_? There's no profit to be made here. I mean… I really… I just don't understand. What the _hell_ did Superman ever do to him to make him hate him so much?"

"Be better than him," Lois says. "It's not about Superman being a danger to humanity, or about humanity needing to be self-reliant. It's not about the fact that Superman has super powers that he didn't work for them. It's not even that Superman keeps interfering with his schemes. It's the fact that Superman has super powers—he's the mightiest creature in the universe. Everyone knows that if Superman wanted to enslave the planet or destroy it, there's not much anyone, not even the Justice League could do. But that's just it. Superman _could_ do all of those things. He could be a conqueror or destroyer. But he _isn't_. Instead, he helps people, and Luthor hates that, because that's what he could do too. And listen, I'm not saying he's a meta, but Luthor's got a superpower too—or else, what the hell is that 12th level intellect he keeps bragging about? Luthor knows that if he had Superman's power, he would be a conqueror and destroyer, because he's already doing that with the power he does have, so the fact that Superman doesn't do that drives him up the wall. Because the shining light of Superman's virtue just casts a light on how incredibly ugly and petty his own dingy soul is."

She puts her hand on Conner's shoulder. "And you know what kid? That's why he's spent so much time trying to drive an even bigger wedge between you and Superman. Because he wants Superman to have at least one big moral failing so he can look a little less ugly by comparison."

Conner chuckles darkly. "Oh, is that what he's trying to do? I should tell him he's wasting his time. I'm not really sure you can drive a wedge into the Grand Canyon."

And finally, there's that knock he's been waiting for, and Robin is at the door.

Conner zips up to open the door.

"Why's everyone looking so grim?" Robin asks. "Please tell me no one's died." From the way Robin says it, Conner knows it's not a joke.

He shakes his head. "No. No one's died."

"Present from Lex Luthor," Clark says, as he walks up by Conner's side. He hands the broken iPad to Robin. "Luthor sent it to Superboy. Delivery boy dropped it off when I was in the shower."

"What happened to the screen?" Robin asks.

"I stepped on it," Lois tells him.

"Do you think you can get anything useful off of it?" Clark asks.

"I'll see. If there's anything useful on it, I'll find it. I'll have to take it apart though."

"Awesome," Conner says unenthusiastically. Let me know what you find. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Yeah, well, it's going to take a little bit more than a few hours. But, um, you should totally take your time. All the time you need." And then, like that Conner's on his way to the elevator, on his way to see M'gann and Batman.

* * *

Part of Conner wants to run as fast as he can to M'gann and Batman.

But… another part of Conner wants to be alone, for just a little while. So he buys a jacket and a baseball cap and shoves his hands into his pockets and walks to the hospital.

He's tempted to buy flowers for M'gann, but he knows in Gotham it's a bad idea. So instead he steps into a toy store and buys her a big pink plush poodle in a poodle skirt. On his way out, however, he spots the most ridiculous thing ever: it's a grey plush grey great dane—wearing, of all the ridiculous things—a bat cowl and cape, and its collar is a utility belt with actual pockets. Conner can't pass it up—so he grabs the Bat-hound and heads back to the queue.

Then he has them wrap both plush dogs up, and he'd back on his way to the hospital. This time, it's the fat police man again, which is encouraging, in a way, even if Bullock's gruff frown isn't.

He finds M'gann in human form, sitting by Batman's bedside. She's slouched over, resting her head in her arms on Batman's bed. Her hairs's a mess and there's a trail of dried slobber running down her cheek. She looks absolutely exhausted, but also, amazingly adorable.

He's not exactly a light guy, but he tries to be as quiet as possible as he heads towards her. And then he leans in and in one swift motion, he hooks his arms around her and picks her up.

She wakes up with a little scream, and then she laughs.

"Conner… you… you…"

"Wonderful boyfriend?" he asks.

"I was gonna say jerk," she says, patting at his chest.

"Oh yeah? Well, then maybe I'm not going to give you what I was going to give you then."

"Were you going to give me a kiss?"

"Among other things," he tells her. "Do you want a kiss?"

"Hmmm… I'm not sure."

He presses his lips to her temple. "How's that?"

"Not sure." There are bags under her eyes, but that doesn't keep them from twinkling.

"How about this?" he plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead.

"What else you got?"

He kisses the tip of her nose.

"I think I need something to compare that to."

So, finally, he kisses her on the lips. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back. Apparently, they've woken Batman up, because he clears his throat. But it's still a couple of seconds more before Conner and M'gann pull away from each other.

"Yeah, I think that was what I wanted," M'gann says smugly.

"Me too," Conner answers. Then he turns his head at Batman. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Lovely," Batman answers with a frown on his face. "Being a complete invalid is so much fun. I don't know why people don't do it more often."

M'gann recoils into Conner. [He's been like this for a while now,] she tells him.

[Can't exactly blame him,] Conner thinks back at her. [I mean… Batman's trained all his life to be at the peak of human performance, and now he's completely dependent on others. It's got to be frustrating.]

Conner sets M'gann down and then picks up the bag with the Bat-hound. He pulls the little plush dog out, and shows it to Batman. "I know it's cheesy and not your style, but I couldn't resist." He takes the dog and sets it on Batman's chest.

"Cute," Batman answers noncommittally. But Conner can tell he's just being stubborn.

"Ruff, ruff," Conner says as he leans the dog into Batman and presses the dog's snout to Batman's nose ever so lightly.

"You know, I used to have a dog," Batman says. "He was a German Shepherd named Ace. Alfred got him for me when, well, after… He thought Ace would help."

"And did he?" M'gann asks.

"Not as much as Alfred would have liked," Batman answers, "But yes."

"Ruff, ren I'm Ace, the Rat-Round, rere to relp!" Conner exclaims in a passable imitation of Scooby Doo. Then he lodges the dog under Batman's arm. If Batman minds, he doesn't say so.

"I brought one for you too," Conner explains, and he picks up the pink poodle in a poodle skirt.

"Awww," is M'gann's much more enthusiastic reply. "She's adorable. I'll name her Mindy." She pecks at Conner's cheek and wraps her arms around his.

"See, I told you I was a wonderful boyfriend."

"Get a room you two," Batman interjects, but he looks a little less upset than before.

"Robin said you were in a grouchy mood."

"That's one word for it," Batman answers dryly. Then, "Speaking of little birds, another one told me you you single handedly subdued both Joker and Harley Quinn, even though they had Joker Venom _and_ kryptonite."

M'gann suddenly tightens her hold around his arm.

Conner shrugs. "I guess I was in the right place at the right time."

"Superman was very impressed."

Conner just sort of snorts.

"Don't snort. It's very impressive. It's not easy to take Joker down." Then, he adds darkly, "I should know."

[He's been playing that scene over in his mind non-stop, trying to figure out what he could have done differently,] M,gann tells him.

"I guess you would know," Conner answers. "I mean, you've brought him back to Arkham, what, a hundred times? I just got lucky.

"Using ice breath to knock kryptonite away from you as Harley's trying to feed it to you isn't really getting lucky."

"Well, I mean, it wasn't Harley's best idea ever."

Batman rolls his eyes. "Stop being modest. You did a great job."

"Thanks."

"What was less great was your decision to run off to talk to Lex Luthor of all people. What ever possessed you to run to Metropolis in the middle of the night to chat with that man?"

"I… I had a revelation."

"Next time you have a revelation like that… let it simmer 'til morning."

Conner looks down. "Yeah. I know. It's just… I suddenly realized… if Luthor was the only person to make Superman bleed, then that must have been a backer of Cadmus. And he confirmed it. He said he had Desmond make me as a weapon to use against Superman. He… he said a bunch of other things. That I'd degenerate, because I was a clone, like… like Bizarro.

"This morning he sent me an iPad with files. Lois broke it, but Robin's going to look through it to see if there's anything useful on it. Though I doubt there'd be anything useful there."

Batman sighs. "M'gann, can I ask you to prop me up? Just a little? I want to sit up."

M'gann nodds, and then she presses a button on Batman's bed, making the back fold up. Ace falls out of Batman's arms, and Conner bends over to pick it up. He puts it on the nightstand.

Then Batman takes a deep breath. "Conner… Whatever role Lex Luthor had in making you, you need to know, it doesn't matter. Whatever purpose, whatever role he might have envisioned for you, none of that matters. We are who we chose to be; Luthor has chosen to be an almost impossibly cruel man, and you… I don't think I can put into words how proud I am of the man you're becoming—

"Batman—

"No. Let me finish, because this is really important, and I'm very tired. It's ridiculous. I can't even wiggle my toes and just the effort of staying awake is exhausting. I can't recall having ever been more tired. But this is important Conner. I know I'm not the most expressive person, but I need to tell you, I feel so incredibly lucky to have been able to see you grow up, because you're such an extraordinary person, my boy.

"You're kind and clever and brave, loyal and strong, and all of that is _you_ and who you _chose_ to be. And Cadmus, Superman, Luthor… none of that matters."

"Batman," Conner can't even begin to answer. He wants to hug Batman, but he knows Batman still has trouble breathing, so instead he just gives Batman's hand a slight squeeze. "Thank you."

"I mean it. And what Luthor said about clone degeneration… I don't think you need to worry about that. I've looked into the process Desmond used to make you. Desmond was light-years ahead of the LexCorp geneticists who made Bizarro. They were just trying to make a carbon copy of Superman and did a miserable job of accounting for Superman's alien DNA. They tried cloning Superman the way they cloned Dolly. Dolly herself had problems, but add to that the fact that they were using a host cell that was incompatible with Superman's DNA and that the sample was obtained using kryptonite, which meant that the DNA was already damaged—the whole thing was a recipe for disaster. If Luthor hadn't been so singularly obsessed with the idea, he would have paid more attention and realized why he could never get it to work. Lucky for us, he found Desmond, and Desmond had enough experience in gene manipulation to realize what was wrong with Luthor's approach.

"I've looked at Desmond's work. It's top notch, so don't worry about that. Frankly, I don't know if Luthor even understands what Desmond did—it'd be uncharacteristically sloppy of him not to, but then again, Luthor tends to get sloppy when Superman's involved."

"And Superman gets sloppy when Luthor's involved, right?"

"Basically."

"But I wanted to speak with you about something else."

"Lois, right?"

"Yeah."

"I like Lois, but she's bad news. How bad is it?"

"She's almost on to you. She knows the Justice League is watching over you, and she thinks J'onn was the one to get you out."

"So she's wondering why I'm so important to the Justice League that I'm worth all this effort? I trust you already pointed out that the Justice League takes an interest in civilians all the time."

"Of course. But she just pointed out that the League doesn't normally assign three heavy hitters to someone—and she's right on the money that J'onn was called in specifically. It didn't really work as a deterrence tactic."

"Good old Lois."

"You used to go out with her…"

"That was a very long time ago."

"I like her. Why did you stop dating her?"

"Because I liked her. And so did my best friend."

"You said Ms. Lane was mostly honorable. Is she trustworthy?"

"Superman would trust her with his life, but not his secret identity."

"So he does have a secret identity?"

"I wouldn't trust him if he didn't."

"But that doesn't answer my question, because I don't trust Superman's judgment. I'm asking you. Is she trustworthy?"

"Yes. And no. She can be trusted to do the right thing, but not necessarily the smart thing. I'd trust her with my life if I had to, but I'd never trust her with hers. What are you thinking?"

"I… I don't know… it's probably crazy."

"You want to tell her."

"I… Like I said, I don't know. I like her. I think she could be made to reason. If she knew how dangerous the information was..."

"What's the worst case scenario?"

"She publishes the information and ruins you."

"No. That's not the worst case scenario. That's a walk in the park. Not that I can walk. But whatever. What's the worst case scenario?"

"She publishes the information, and ruins you, and then every crook in Arkham comes after you and Robin while the U. S. Government freezes your assets and there's a run on your company's stock."

"That's pretty bad. How can it get worse?"

Conner's wracking his brain now, trying to think of how it can get worse. "Well, I mean, if there's a run on your stock and they freeze your assets, then a huge chunk of the Justice League's operating budget disappears overnight, and the Justice League loses its ability to operate. They also have to spend ridiculous resources protecting you—the Justice League ceases to exist."

"How can it get worse?"

"I don't know. Lex Luthor breaks out of prison, nukes Gotham, kills the Justice League, and takes over the world?"

"Dramatic. But what about tragedy? Of all the people in the world, who would be most upset to learn that I was Batman?"

"You mean, after Ms. Lane, because it meant she was dating Batman and didn't know it?"

"Yes."

Conner thinks for a long time. "The Joker. Because it would mean he hurt you without meaning to, without enjoying it, and the Big Bad Bat would be robbed of his mystique. He'd feel robbed of his arch-nemesis."

"So who does he take it out on?"

"Well, you, obviously, and everything you hold dear. But… Ms. Lane, because she's the one who took away his toy. So, Joker goes after Ms. Lane while the Justice League has no resources and is distracted taking care of you and Robin and Alfred… and he succeeds… and because he's the Joker, he does it in a graphic, violent and overly dramatic way, and he probably takes out a couple of hundred other people while he's at it… and then Superman goes mad with grief. He kills Joker, and then I have to kill him, except, I can't, and he kills me instead, and then, there's a grief-crazed Superman, and the League doesn't have the resources to stop him. They have to pick between protecting you and taking Superman down. They choose Superman, and eventually, someone, either a crazy from Arkham or a low life trying to get street cred finally kills you, which leaves the League broken, devoid of resources, deprived of their leader and their most powerful fighter, fighting the most powerful creature in the solar system. It's full out war, and whoever wins, everyone loses. Thousands of people probably die, and afterwards someone, maybe Superman, maybe whatever's left of the League, maybe a supervillain like Luthor sets up a fascist dictatorship over the planet. Or maybe Darkseid uses the chaos to justify invading Earth."

"That, Conner, is what I call a worst-case scenario. But, Conner, I'm very, very tired. I don't know if I've ever been more tired in my life. I know you'll figure it out."

And Conner want to protest, but Batman's already asleep.

Conner just sits with M'gann while Batman's asleep.

[He's really upset.]

[Yeah. I know.]

[He keeps thinking of all the people who might die if he doesn't save them.]

[It's not his fault. He can't do everything.]

[You know, he can barely feel his toes. He can't even move. Dr. Thompkins told him in the best case scenario, he's looking at a year of physical therapy before he can walk without assistance, and that's just the best case scenario and it doesn't even account for when he can put the suit on again.

[I'm worried about him Conner. I… I don't want to, you know, listen to the thoughts he doesn't want me to listen to, but he's, sort of giving off this dangerous vibe.]

[Of course he's giving off a dangerous vibe,] he tells her. [He's friggin' Batman.]

[I don't know. He's thinking something. The obsessing about the other night… he's obsessing about it so much it's not that I'm trying to hear it, it's that he's just broadcasting it. This other thing… he's being more careful about it. He's thinking something… and I don't know what it is, but I know I don't like it. I think he thinks it's dangerous.]

[Look, everything Batman does is dangerous. That's why he's Batman,] Conner reassures her. [You're just worried because you're tired. Why don't you take a nap? I'll beam good thoughts at you.] And he thinks about getting ice cream with Clark and Lois the night before. And then he thinks about the pink poodle he bought M'gann, and about M'gann, and about all the other things in the world he knows that are good and sweet, and soon M'gann's dozing off, her head resting gently on her shoulder. And he stays like that, just feeling listening to the breathing and heartbeats of the two people he loves most in the world, until the sun sets outside, and then a little past that, until M'gann wakes up with a smile on her face, looking refreshed.

He kisses her once more, and then, goes out to rendez-vous with Clark and Robin.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	13. Mostly Honorable

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 13: Mostly Honorable**

He's nearly out of the hospital, when he recognizes Lois Lane, talking to one of the nurses. He takes a deep breath and wishes the Genomorphs had programmed him to believe in a deity so he could have someone to pray to. Then he goes to meet Lois. At least, Robin did say he could take all the time he wanted.

As he smiles and waves at her, he goes ahead and thinks a little prayer anyway. It's not very good, because no one's ever taught him what exactly a prayer is, but he figures, if there is a god and he/she/it/they hears it, then maybe he/she/it/they will take mercy on his soul (if clones have souls) and take into account that no one ever taught him how to pray, so it's not his fault if he doesn't know how to do it.

Lois doesn't look happy to see him, he figures because she knows he's going to want to interfere with her snooping, but she waves back anyway.

The tight smile on her face gives way to a real one when he tells her he's changed his mind, and he's going to give her that interview after all.

Lois offers to take him to a coffee place, but what he's about to tell her isn't the kind of thing that should be overheard, so he invites her to Mount Justice and hopes that it won't get him expelled from the team, but hey—it's where he lives, where else is he going to take someone for a heart to heart? So he takes her to the old phonebooth entrance in Gotham. He's going to enter her as a guest under his own authorization, but it turns out, she's already been registered as a guest by Superman, which, actually is a huge relief.

"This isn't the Hall of Justice," she notes when they beam into the Cave.

"No. It's an older facility."

"MountJustice? I thought they decommissioned that years ago."

Conner shrugs. "Yeah. They did, then they needed a place to stick me. This is where I live."

"You live here by yourself?" she asks.

"Well, technically, Miss Martian lives here too."

"And the Martian Manhunter lets his niece live alone with you?" Lois asks.

"Lucky for me, right?" Conner laughs. "Though, there's always a Leaguer on duty as our 'den mother'—though, oddly, all of our den mothers have been men. My favorites are Red Tornado and Captain Marvel, because—well, I guess that doesn't matter. But there's also Batman who gives us missions, and Black Canary is our principal trainer. All the others have rooms here—but they all have families to go home to.

"Gee, where are my manners? Are you hungry? Can I offer you something to drink?" he asks her.

"Sure," she nods. "A cup of joe'd be nice."

He nods his head. "Kitchen's this way."

"What kind of coffee would you like? We have an espresso machine."

"A latte would be lovely," she tells him.

So he makes her her latte and warms the milk with his laser vision. She takes the mug from him with a grin on her face. "Showoff."

For himself, Conner just grabs a can of cola out of the fridge. There's a store-bought cake in the fridge, so he cuts off a couple of slices and offers some to Lois.

"Thanks," she says. "Now about my interview…" she has a smile like a cat on her face. It reminds him of M'gann's impression of Catwoman.

"Yes. Your interview."

Lois reaches into her purse and takes a voice recorder out. "Do you mind?" she asks.

He sort of does. But he can't say so at this point, so he just shakes his head. If he's wrong, he'll have to worry about destroying the recording later.

Lois turns the thing on. "OK, Superboy, so the first thing I want to establish is that everything you say while the recorder is on is on the record. If you want to go off the record, tell me, and I'll turn the recorder off, ok?"

"Ok."

"Alright then, so the next thing is, what's the catch?"

"Catch?" he asks, "What do you mean?"

"Why'd Batman change his mind about you talking to me on the record?"

"I… I don't know if he did. I don't technically have his blessing for this. But, um, he told me to figure it out, and I think, I think this is the best thing to do."

"Interesting… what do you have to figure out?"

"Can we go back to that later?" he pleads, "let's get the other things out of the way."

"Sure thing kid. So, first things first, as far as I've been able to figure, and please, correct me if I'm wrong, you're Superman's clone?"

Conner nods. "Yes. I was originally created by Project Cadmus, a cloning facility in DC, from genetic material stolen from Superman. I was made in a test tube, aged to 16 over the course of 16 weeks. They called me Project Kr, and my stated purpose was to replace Superman should he perish, to destroy him should he turn from the light. And, recently, I found out Lex Luthor was the one who provided Superman's genetic material to the geneticists at Cadmus."

Lois bites her lip. "You know kid, you don't have to give me all those details."

"It's ok. I can give you the details, and then you can do whatever you want with them."

"Didn't Batman warn you about me?" she asks. "Yeah. He also said you were mostly honorable. I think you're more honorable than that."

"Thanks kid… I think… Ok—so, Cadmus cloned you—but you're not still with Cadmus right?"

"Of course not. There was a fire—Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad went to investigate, and found me. We, um, barely escaped with our lives." He doesn't tell her about Dubbliex. He doesn't know what's become of the genomorph, but if he's still with Cadmus, he doesn't want to implicate him.

She takes a bite of her cake. "You know, I just realized, when I publish this, I'm going to lose a lot of money."

He doesn't really understand. "Huh?"

"We have a pot at the paper—when you first appeared, we all put money on where we thought you had come from."

"And where did you think I had come from?" he asked.

"Well, I put a hundred bucks on you being Superman's son."

"That's a surprisingly unimaginative wager," he tells her.

"Yeah. With these kinds of things I normally just bet against whatever I'm hoping it'll be—that way I'm happy either way."

Conner cocks his head. "Why didn't you want me to be Superman's son?"

"Not… not his biological son… and… it's silly, it's just… With Superman I like to pretend that I mean something to him, and if he had a secret son I had to learn about on the evening news… it would mean… well, anyway, that's neither here nor there."

"Can we go off the record, for just a moment?" he asks her.

She presses the stop button on the voice recorder. "We're off the record."

"Ms. Lane," he calls her that because she told him she liked it, "I don't know Superman at all, but I know you, at least a little, and really, the only thing I can say is that for a guy with like, 20 different kinds of vision, Superman is pretty blind. Clearly the man doesn't know a good thing when he sees it."

Lois rolls her eyes and takes another bite out of the cake. "Yeah, well, that's pretty obvious," she says, and he has the impression she's not talking about herself.

"I don't know. Maybe it's the alien thing. Maybe it's because he spends so much time flying and can't get his head out of the clouds, but, I don't know… I think you need a guy with both feet on the ground. You know—Clark's not gay. He's _crazy_ about you. I talked to his mother about it. She agrees. And I don't know. Maybe he's not your type. I think he's such a better guy than Superman, but I know I'm kinda biased. But, I mean, if he _is_ your type—I think you should let him know, because he's not ever going to make a move because he thinks he can't compete with Superman."

Lois eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but in an instant, she regains her composure and turns the recorder back on.

"So, ok, that was then, but you've just captured the Joker, which is no easy feat. It once took Batman six whole months to bring him back to Arkham, so you've come a long way from where you were the first time we saw you in Metropolis."

Conner shrugs. "It's been a while since then."

"So, it's been about three years, right, Superboy?"

Conner nods. "Yeah, and you know what Ms. Lane? You can ho ahead and call me Connerr."

"Conner?" she asks, confused.

"Yeah. It's my name. My civilian name. Conner Jones."

Lois laughs. "Right. For a moment I thought you were serious."

"I am. My civilian name, my secret identity, is Conner Jones."

"Like the boyfriend in _Hello Megan_?"

"Yeah… It's my girlfriend's favorite TV show, and well, Robin's a troll and Batman doesn't know anything about pop culture. But I'll prove it to you, wait here." And he zips to his room and picks a yearbook off his shelf and takes it back to Lois.

"See," he says, opening the book to the portraits section, and pointing to his own picture with the name Conner Jones beneath it. Then he turns the page and point to M'gann's picture, which read Megan Morse. "She even looks like the character from the show. People comment on that all the time: Megan and Conner."

"So, you have a secret identity like Batman?"

"I mean… I didn't for a while. But, yes."

"But… you don't wear a mask…"

"Obviously, I don't need to. And besides, if I did, what good would it do? Superman doesn't, and everyone knows I look just like him."

"Does Superman have a secret identity?" she asks.

Conner considers lying about it, but then he decides to tell her the truth. "I'll tell you off the record."

She nods and stops recording. "So, does Superman have a secret identity?"

And Conner realizes that he has to tell her, if for no other reason, because she needs to know that there's more to Superman than she knows, and that she might never get to know the Kryptonian.

"Yes. I don't know what it is, and I didn't know for a fact that he did have one until Batman confirmed it recently."

"You mean, somewhere out there, some HR department is cutting a check to John Doe, and John Doe is really Superman?"

Conner shrugs. "Look, I don't know anything about Superman's secret identity. All I know is that Batman said he had one, and that he wouldn't have trusted Superman otherwise."

"How the hell does he hide it though?" Lois asks, clearly upset at the revelation. "I mean, who could possibly be stupid enough to look at Superman's face and not recognize it?"

Again, Conner shrugs. "I mean, people don't recognize me. They might think I kind of look like myself, but, come on, if you looked at me in school, what the hell would you think were the chances that I could outrun a bullet? People just… look… Conner Jones is very mundane. People don't really see the fantastic when they expect the mundane."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks him suddenly.

"I mean, you wanted an interview…"

"But you're giving me way too much detail. That stuff about Cadmus… your name… I mean, if I publish your secret identity, your life at school will be pretty drastically over."

"Well, I'm thinking of applying to college, and my grades are pretty mediocre and I don't have any extracurriculars on paper, so I was thinking, if I came clean, it'd explain my grades and I could probably write a pretty good essay about it and get into Harvard."

Lois laughs. "Good one. No, really, why are you telling me all this?"

"Look, I told you—I'll tell you things, and you can decide what to publish."

"You know I can't publish any of this," she tells him, frowning. "If I write that you were originally created as a 'weapon' by a shadowy cabal of scientists to take down Superman, no one will ever trust you. And I can't publish your name in the paper. It'd be the end of your private life and your school would suddenly become the target of a ton of attacks. So why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I needed to make sure I was right."

"Right about what?"

"That I could trust you. If I told you my name and you published it, yes, that would be the end of my private life… but I could get another name, or I could just be a superhero fulltime. But there's a much bigger story here."

"What is it?"

"You know, you've got really good instincts."

"I know. But why?"

"You're right about Bruce Wayne and the Justice League. You're right. After he… after he flat-lined, several times, they couldn't get the EEG to pick anything up. I'm not sure on the exact details, but I do know that Black Canary and Superman were guarding him while the doctors thought he was brain dead, and Superman called in the Martian Manhunter to see if he could determine if there was anything left of him, something that the EEG wasn't picking up. So, you see, you're on completely the right track."

Lois leans back and crosses her arms. "Two questions: A, how do you know all of this, and B, why are you telling me?"

"I know this, because I was there. After I spoke with you that day, M'gann and I flew to Gotham to make sure B… Bruce wasn't dead. And I'm telling you, because you're going to figure it out eventually, but I figure if I tell you, it'll save you time, and there's less of a chance of the story getting out."

Lois leans in. "Ok. So, I take it Martian Manhunter dug into Bruce's brain and dug up the fact that Bruce was still in there? Why? I mean, Bruce is a nice guy, but he's not that nice. Was it just because Superman couldn't stand to have someone die on his watch? Or is it because Bruce is rich? Because he donates a lot of money to the Justice League?"

"Probably for all of those reasons. Except… J'onn didn't find anything." Conner licks his lips and feels his throat swelling painfully. "I… I don't think he looked too hard… he wasn't too excited about doing it in the first place. I think he thought it was an inappropriate intervention in human affairs.

"But, anyway, he didn't find anything. You should have seen the look on Superman's face when J'onn said 'Nothing.' One little word, and Superman looked completely defeated. He crumpled right up. I think that's the only time I've ever really understood him."

"But, Bruce is fine," Lois asks, trying to decide whether to be confused or skeptical.

"Because M'gann is a stronger telepath than her uncle. I begged her."

"So, ok, she was the one who was able to recover Bruce's consciousness?"

"Yes. But it wasn't easy."

"Why? I mean? Like I said, Bruce is a nice guy and all, but why did the League go through all this trouble?" She shakes her head. "It can't just be for the money. I'm sure Bruce plans to be as generous in death as he is in life. It can't be just for the technology that Wayne Enterprises has, because Lucius Fox is as adamant a supporter of the Justice League as Bruce is. And I don't think it's just the fact that Superman didn't want to lose someone, because, like it or not, there are plenty of people Superman doesn't save, and I know it always hurts him when someone dies… I know he mourns every failure, but he doesn't call the Martian in for them.

"And, here's another thing I don't get… why did you care? It wasn't because Superman cared, and I get the impression you're not really in on the day to day operations of the JL…"

"Because of the way Superman said 'Bruce' when his heart stopped beating. There's only one person in the world Superman talks to like that. I was watching the broadcast with the Kents, and Superman said it, and it clicked. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense, and my first instinct was to run to Gotham."

"I'm not sure I know where you're going with this…" Lois says anxiously.

"Think Ms. Lane. A 30-something Gothamite who's very important to Superman."

Lois stops for a second, then it clicks. She starts laughing, and for five minutes straight, her peals of laughter bounce off the Cave's walls. She laughs so hard for so long, she catches the hiccups. Conner gets up to grab her a glass of water, then he sits back down and waits for her to be done laughing.

She wipes a tear from her eyes. "You know kid, for a second you almost had me going."

Conner just shrugs. "You don't have to believe me. But it explains a lot. I mean… means, motive and opportunity, right?"

"Yeah. Right. Because, I'm going to fall for that. Sure. Bruce is rich. Sure, he hates crime… but come on…"

"You used to date. I bet you've seen him without a shirt on…"

"Yeah, but—

"And I'd bet anything he disappears all the time for really bad reasons."

"Well, yeah, ok, but that doesn't—

"How much money do you think the Batmobile costs?"

"I don't know."

"Well, how much does the US military spend on a tank, and do you think a piece of custom hardware like the Batmobile would cost more or less?"

"Ok. So the Batmobile is expensive. Really expensive."

"And he has a plane, and a boat. And a lot of small weapons he has to replace. And of course, he needs a place to put them all—

"Ok, ok, so being Batman is expensive and Bruce has a lot of money. At the most that would tend to show that there's a possibility that Bruce would be maybe funding Batman. Which isn't all that surprising, since it's well known that Bruce provides money to the Justice League. And frankly, kid, if you're willing to come up with such an incredibly bizarre cover story, I'm willing to bet anything that there's a really juicy story here."

Conner groans in frustration. "There is! It's that Bruce Wayne is Batman! Batman's not on an of-world Justice League mission! The reason Superman and Robin showed up when the Joker crashed the Wayne Foundation Gala instead of Batman and Robin was that Batman was already there on camera and couldn't get away to change!

"That's why Bruce Wayne is so angry with Superman and Clark! Because it was his information on Lex Luthor, and Superman had no right to give it to the press when Batman didn't want to, and Batman was right, Clark's article made a huge mess, and I'd bet anything it was Luthor who sent the Joker after Bruce Wayne."

Lois sighs. "You're really serious. You think Bruce is Batman?"

"No. I know so. Look, for my birthday party last year, we had the celebration at the Batcave. There was a thin old British man in a domino mask—now I've met him in his civilian identity, he's Alfred, Batman's butler. And when J'onn couldn't detect any thought, Alfred told the doctor lady to arrange for the organ donation paperwork, and I freaked out and yelled at him, because I thought he was giving up on Batman. They all were. Even Robin—

"So, what, Robin is Dick Grayson?" Lois interrupts.

"Yeah. When he stopped by the _Planet_, he snapped a picture of us together and said we'd laugh about it some day. I thought he was just a weird guy, but now, I get what the joke was. Except we're not laughing."

Lois groans and rubs her eyes. "I think I need a stiff drink."

"We don't have any alcohol here," he tells her.

"If you're not lying kid, I was dating the goddam Batman and didn't notice, which means I'm the worst reporter ever."

Conner smiles. "No. It means Batman's very good at what he does."

Lois looks glumly at her recorder, and then, slides it over to Conner. "You owe me a new recorder kid."

He takes it up and looks at it. "You're not going to write this up?"

"Of course I'm not going to write this up!" She sinks her face in her hands. "First, no one is going to believe that Bruce Wayne is Batman. Second, if I put out a ten page expose, carefully documenting all of my sources and definitively proving that Bruce was Batman, it would effectively ruin Bruce. Not to mention that if the crazy people in Gotham found out Batman was sick, they'd all come after him.

"And also, I'm not going to publish your name so Lex Luthor can send you gifts at school.

"So, basically, I'm an idiot, and you owe me a new voice recorder. And since now I know Bruce pays your allowance, I want it to be a really nice one. Preferably with good dictation software. I mean, Justice League good. Also, since you've just handed me the story of the century and there's absolutely nothing I can do with it, I want a bottle of really good scotch."

Conner melts the recorder in his hands with his laser vision, and then hands it back to Lois.

"I can give you a tour of the facilities, here," he tells her. "You know, sorta like a consolation prize."

Lois nods and so he takes her through the rooms. He shows her Wally's wall of souvenirs and tells her a couple of the stories behind them. He even shows her his own room, and regrets it slightly when she opens his closet and finds a bunch of costumes.

She pulls out a loincloth. "What's this?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye.

"Erm… Tarzan of the Apes?" Conner can feel himself blushing.

"Yeah?" She pulls out a couple of other costumes. "You like dressing up?"

"My girlfriend likes it when I dress up," he tells her.

"Your girlfriend's a shape-shifter, right?" she asks with a wide smile, apparently getting over her disappointment.

"Like I said, lucky me."

She pulls out the Batman costume and sends him a look that sort of says anything.

Faster than a speeding bullet, he yanks it out of her hands and throws it under the bed. "ThatwasforaHalloweenparty," he tells her.

"Uh-huh," she nods.

"No. I swear. It was for a Halloween party. Robin went as Batman too. He was pretty upset I stole his costume. Batman went as the Grey Ghost."

"Huh," Lois cocks her head, in thought. "That's Bruce's favorite TV show. He used to watch it with his dad. His Gray Ghost memorabilia collection is one of his less well publicized eccentricities." Then she smiles her nosy-Lois-smile. "I think it's adorable. Weird, but adorable," and Conner's not sure if she's talking about Batman's love for an old TV show, or the fact that he occasionally role plays as Batman.

Lois spreads her hands through the air: "I can see it now: 'The Secret Sex Lives of the Super-Men'. That'd be a fun piece, don't you think?"

"Erm…"

Lois laughs. "The look on your face kid. Suddenly you've turned beet red, kid; that waitress is right, you kinda do look like Clark."

"Promise, no articles about me dressing up like Batman?"

"I dunno kid," Lois teases. "You did offer me a consolation prize." Then she laughs and puts an arm around Conner. "No, don't worry Con, that's not my genre. But you better behave, or I might give Vicky Vale a tip for a story. That's the kind of thing that'd be right up her alley." Suddenly she snaps, "Oh! If Vale only knew that Bruce was Batman! And that _I_ know. Oh! She'd turn green with envy."

* * *

Conner puts everything where it was, then he finishes giving Lois the tour. Finally, they zeta-beam back to Gotham.

"Do you want to talk to Batman?" Conner asks Lois once they get out of the phone booth. "I'm pretty sure I can get you in."

Lois things about it, then nods. So he takes her back to the hospital. The fat cop is gone, replaced by a Hispanic woman. She won't let them in at first, but then the door opens behind her—it's Superman.

His eyes widen when he sees Lois, and then he turns to Conner—there's a hint of anger in those blue eyes, and Conner can't help the almost imperceptible tremor of his hand. Maybe Superman notices, because the look in his eyes softens from one of anger to one that's merely stern.

"Superboy," he says slowly, "What's Lois doing here?"

"Lois?" Batman's voice calls out. "Let them in, Superman," Bruce orders.

So Superman opens the door wider, and stands aside.

"I see you figured it out," Batman says neutrally.

"I did," Conner nods.

"And, I take it, not the worst case scenario?"

"Not the worst case scenario," Conner confirms.

"What the hell Bruce?" Superman asks.

"Lois was nosing around. Superboy—

"I told her my name first… she wasn't going to publish it, so I told her the rest."

"Good boy," Batman smiles.

"God, you're really Batman?"

"I was until recently, at any rate," Batman answers darkly.

Lois steps forward and grabs Batman's hand. "Oh jeeze Bruce." Then she lets it go, suddenly angry. "I cannot believe you! We dated for six months! When the hell were you going to tell me you were Batman? On the honey-moon?"

"Lois, there was never going to be a honey-moon. I'm not exactly marriageable material."

"You must think it's really funny, dating women and lying to them."

"I assure you Lois, I'm not the kind of person who really cares for jokes."

Lois bites her lips, looking remorseful. "No. I guess not. Though, it's actually pretty funny… everyone thinks you're this flighty irresponsible playboy who can't ski for crap, and really, you're the goddam Batman."

"Well, he is a playboy," Superman says.

"Thank you for that wonderfully helpful observation, Superman," Batman rolls his eyes. "And now, I guess, I can't ski for crap, so…" Batman's words fade into an awkward silence. Conner's never seen Batman like this, and he doesn't quite know what to say. But he notices that M'gann, who's napping in the corner on a couch Superman or someone must have brought in, looks exhausted again.

Lois breaks the tension by pulling Conner into her. "Well Bruce, I've got to say, you've done a fantastic job with Conner."

And that's enough to get Batman to smile again. "Frankly, that was mostly him. He's a pretty fantastic individual. Look," and Batman is even able to shake his head a little to the left. "He brought me the most thoughtful gift."

Lois laughs and picks up the Bat-Hound. "Aw… that's adorable. What's his name?"

"Ace," Conner tells her.

Lois looks at Bruce with a soft smile. "Like your dog?"

"Exactly like my dog."

She puts Ace down and then smiles at Bruce. "You're going to be fine, you know that?"

"Really?" Batman asks skeptically. "And you know this because?"

"Because you're a survivor. And a stubborn ass. And, because you have great friends around you. You're going to be fine, one way or another." And then she leans in and kisses him squarely on the mouth. He kisses her back. The kiss lasts awkwardly long, and with an air of satisfaction, Conner notes how uncomfortable it makes Superman. But, the thing is, Superman has no claim to Lois, just like he has no claim to him.

When Lois finally pulls away, she has a big smile on her face. "See, a man who can kiss like that is going to be fine. Three days ago you were brain dead. Today you can kiss like there's no tomorrow. Three days from now, you'll be able to move your hands, and in a month, you'll be hobbling around Wayne Enterprises on crutches. And this handsome young man," Lois winks at Conner, "can put on the cape and cowl to put the fear of God into the criminals of Gotham to keep people from getting too antsy.

"Though, don't think just because you're a good kisser you're going to get off scot-free. This little minion of yours had to destroy my voice recorder, so you owe me a new one. And now that I know you can afford it, I want a really nice one. With really amazing dictation software, not that commercial crap." She turns to Conner, "What else did I want?"

"A bottle of Scotch."

"Oh, yes. I want a really good bottle of Scotch."

"I'll have Alfred send you one post haste. And something pretty too," he says with a roguish smile.

"And there's the Bruce I know and love," Lois says. She plants another kiss on Batman, this one short and light, and then gets up. "Alright Conner, we've got to go find Clark and get back to Metropolis—Perry will have my head if he has to put us up in a hotel another night and I have no story for him."

She drags him out of the hospital room, and the last thing Conner hears as he leaves, is Batman telling Superman, "See, I told you, that kid's got good instincts."

* * *

**To be continued...**


	14. Story's a Bust

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 14: Story's a Bust**

They find Clark and Robin sitting on the floor in Clark's hotel room playing a videogame off of Robin's wrist computer.

"Hey, what's up?" Clark asks without looking up from the screen.

"Not much. Story's a bust."

Clark turns his head at that, giving Robin the opportunity he needs to shoot Clark's character dead. "What do you mean the story's a bust?"

"I _mean_," Lois says, "That while you were playing video games with Boy Wonder over here, _I_ was snooping around at the hospital. I talked to Batman and Superman—there's no story to publish, so we should high-tail it out of here before it's too late to head out for Metropolis. Perry's already going to give me an earful for spending so much of the paper's money without getting anything good out of it."

Clark pushes his glasses up. "Well, we got the Joker story… that was pretty exciting."

Lois crosses her arms and fixes him with a glare. "Clark, you think watching corn grow is exciting."

"Nah, Lois," Robin intercedes. "Clark here's too good at videogames."

"It's called hyperbole," Lois counters. "Anyway, we need to go. You can stay if you wanna help pack."

Robin laughs. "Yeah right." He gets up, unplugs his computer from the TV, and jumps out of the window dramatically.

"Show-off," Lois mutters under her breath, then she goes to Clark's closet and pulls out Clark's small suitcase and throws it on the bed. "Start packing Smallville. I'm going to go yell at the hotel manager until he allows us to cancel tonight's stay."

Once she's out the door, Clark turns to Conner: "So, there's really no story?"

"You heard the woman."

* * *

They arrive at the train station half an hour later to find out that due to inclement weather all the flights are cancelled and all the trains have sold out.

Lois groans in frustration. "Ugh. I can't believe this! And after all the trouble I went through to get the manager to let us check out early!"

"I have an idea," Conner says, "but I have to check first."

So he calls Robin to see whether Robin can arrange to have his car shipped to Gotham.

"Yeah," Robin says. "I'm at the Batcave right now. If you don't mind me driving it, I can zetabeam it to the Batcave and then drive it to you guys at the station."

"Sounds like a plan. Keys—

"Tcha! Like I need keys!" Robin exclaims dramatically before hanging up.

Conner turns to Lois and Clark. "Robin'll be here in a while with my car. We can drive up to Metropolis."

"You have a car?" Lois asks.

Conner rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Gift from Superman, because nothing says, 'Did you know you can't fly?' like a car."

"I really don't think that was what Superman was trying to say," Clark tells him.

"Yeah, well, that's because you like cars. But what the hell would Superman want with a car?"

"So, why don't you get rid of it," Lois asks, "if you hate it so much?"

Conner shrugs. "M'gann likes it. And, it can occasionally be useful. Plus, by now, Batman's got it all decked out. It's not exactly the Batmobile, but it does have a handy lead lining… not that I've ever needed to use it for that, but you know Batman. He likes to be prepared."

* * *

It takes Robin a while, but he does finally show up with the car. When she sees it, Lois lets out a long wolf whistle. "Kid, I think Superman likes you a lot more than you think he does. This is a _really_ nice car."

Robin gets out. "Yep, this is a beautiful car. Asterous. Safe driving," he says and sprints away. Conner's relieved to see that Robin found the spare keys in the glove compartment rather than hotwiring the car.

"In fact, isn't this your dream car?" Lois asks Clark.

He pushes his glasses up. "I can't afford a car like this."

"Not on a reporter's salary you can't. But I remember that time we covered the auto show—you couldn't keep your eyes off this car."

Clark shrugs. "Yeah, well, a guy can dream, right?"

"You know, Clark, if you want it, I can give it to you," Conner offers.

"What? No. I…" Clark stumbles a step backwards. "It's your car. Superman wanted you to have it. I couldn't take it."

"Well," Conner says with a smile, "you can still drive it to Metropolis." And Clark's face lights up like the Fourth of July.

"I call shotgun," Lois says, and really, Conner isn't going to argue with her for the privilege of sitting next to Clark.

* * *

An hour away from Metropolis, they stop at a little roadside restaurant for dinner. Lois makes Clark chose between fries and desert, but she lets him get a burger, even though she vetoes his attempt to get the burger cooked medium rare. "After that expose you did on E. coli Clark, you're seriously going to get undercooked ground chuck at some highway joint?"

It's a pleasant uneventful dinner, though Conner sort of wishes the waitress were a little less friendly with Clark. She adds a scoop of ice cream to Clark's apple pie without Clark even asking for it, and when he points it out, she winks at him and tells him it's on the house.

When the waitress leaves the check, Lois smiles widely at Clark.

"I think our waitress likes you," she tells him. "You should leave her a nice tip, and ask her for her number."

Conner can tell that it's through a concentrated effort that Clark manages not to frown. He puts down his company credit card and a twenty for tip. "Excuse me," he says evenly, "I need to go to the restroom."

Once Clark is safely away in the bathroom, Conner turns to glare at Lois. "Why did you do that?"

"First, I wanted to see if you were right. Which, you were. Second, look, if Clark is into me, he needs to know that I'm not interested. He's a really nice guy, and I really like him, and any woman in the world would be incredibly lucky to have him, but he's not my type.

"What you want me to do is settle for him because Superman's not attainable. But, you know what? First, there are plenty of men who aren't Superman out there. I dated Bruce years after I first met Superman. Second, Clark's a coworker. Office romance never ends well. And third, I think settling for Clark, especially when I know how Clark feels about me now, would be really unfair to him."

"I don't get it, what does Superman have that Clark doesn't?"

"You mean, besides the obvious?" Lois says with a raised brow.

"Yeah, besides the superpowers."

"Well, there's the physique of a Greek god. With the way Clark eats, it's a wonder he's not morbidly obese. But… Look. I know Superman's not perfect. And I know that when you showed up, he freaked out and screwed up, and that's on him, totally and completely. But Superman is brave and kind and wonderful smart and determined. He's the best person I've ever known: he can take on gods—and he does, when he needs to—but he's just as willing to help a little girl get her cat out of a tree. I saw him talk a man off a ledge once. Superman could have just grabbed him by the collar and set him down, but instead he just talked to him for hours, until he talked the guy out of it, and last I checked, Superman still occasionally has coffee with the guy to see how he's doing. He helps alcoholics get sober and hobos get homes, and more than once he's vouched for an ex-con to help him get a job. Superman's the exact opposite of Lex Luthor.

"And I mean… Clark's kind too… he always has spare change for the pan handlers, and once I even saw him treat his would-be mugger to dinner and now that kid's got his GED, but…" She sighs, "It's not the same. Clark's a shy klutz who disappears at the first sign of danger. And, like I said, he's a great guy and I'm sure he'll make some woman a wonderful dependable husband, but… that's not what I want, and you know, the heart wants what the heart wants."

"And your heart wants Superman," Conner says with a frown.

"Or, you know, Batman, apparently. I might have a bit of a kink for superheroes." Lois smiles, "Hey Con, you legal yet?"

"Ugh," Conner groans. "Not funny. Besides, I have a girlfriend."

"Yeah, no, you're way too young for me, not to mention, way too kinky."

"What? And you think Batman's vanilla?"

"Oh, no," she teases. Then she leans over and whispers in his ear, "But somehow, I don't think he roleplays as Alfred."

Once again, Conner blushes red. "I told you, that was for Halloween."

"Uh-huh..."

"Shut up," Conner begs.

"Not until I get my new voice recorder."

But Conner's saved by Clark coming out of the bathroom. Clark seems to have regained his composure and waves at them. He's not looking where he's going, so he bumps into their waitress, causing her to spill water down his shirt. The woman cringes and starts to babble apologies as she rushes to wipe him down, but Clark stops her and tells her it'll be fine.

"You can make it up to me by giving me your number," he tells her, flashing his white teeth at her.

Conner can hear the waitress's heart speed up. She giggles and takes a pen and Clark's hand and writes her number on it.

He displays his hand proudly to Lois as he sits down. The waitress comes and takes the card, and when she comes back, she's brought another slice of apple pie, in a doggie bag for Clark. She leans in, over his shoulder as she puts the pie and the card down and lets him know in a flirty whisper, "And there's a lot more sweetness where that came from."

* * *

The next few days are a bit of a mess. After everything that's happened, the novelty of the _Daily Planet_ news room's worn off. Unfortunately, Jimmy Olsen can't say the same about Superboy, and the intern takes every opportunity to pester Conner, oblivious to what Conner's fairly sure has to be an obvious lack of enthusiasm on his part.

Investigative reporting turns out to be significantly less glamorous than he had thought. Lois and Clark spend an awful lot of time on the phone, on email, or just typing up a story. There are meetings too, but Conner's not invited to those, which, lucky him, leaves him with Jimmy Olsen who isn't invited either.

Conner gets very excited when Clark finally declares that he has to go someplace and calls it a field trip. And then it turns out that it's just a trip to the municipal archives so Clark can check some old property records, and Clark spends two hours combing through ledgers from the 1980s, and Conner can kind of see why Lois said Clark thought watching corn was exciting.

A bright spot comes four days after their return to Metropolis, when Batman's released from the hospital.

Wayne Enterprises releases a press release explaining that Bruce Wayne is recovering beautifully, but will be taking an extended leave from the company, and Lucius Fox will step in as interim CEO until Bruce Wayne is once again restored to the picture of vigor.

Paparazzi manage to get a shot of Bruce Wayne in a wheel chair, which confirms that Lois was right: he's able to move his hands. And behind him, the adorable redheaded young nurse pushing the wheelchair looks slightly less exhausted than he remembers, so that's something particularly comforting. Best of all, Dick Grayson and Robin are both at the scene, which accounts for the two shape shifters on the League. It really is Batman twiddling his thumbs in that chair.

The downside is that Clark finally decides to call the waitress, and after a half hour of the most painfully inane chit-chat on the phone, Clark asks/begs Conner to take the evening off.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to get sexiled until I went off to college," Conner says with a groan, because he does not approve of Clark's date with this woman, who is probably perfectly lovely, but suffers from the major personality flaw of not being Lois Lane.

"I'm not sexiling you, Superboy," Clark retorts with a strained smile. "I just… it's kind of awkward to have a date with a lady when you have to be chaperoned by a teenager."

"She might be an assassin hired by Lex Luthor, for all we know," Conner points out as he crosses his arms, "I really can't, in good conscience allow you to go out with a strange woman unescorted."

Clark groans, but neither one will give. Finally, Clark comes upon an idea: "Why don't we call Batman, and have him decide?"

Conner's about to stop Clark, but before he can properly come up with an excuse as to why they shouldn't bother Batman, Clark's already called, and Batman seems to be in another dark mood.

"Superboy, let the man go on his date. I don't very much care who he fucks."

"But—

"You could use a break. Clark has a distress beacon, if he needs it. Batman out."

Clark doesn't look half as satisfied as a person who's just won an argument should, but he smiles anyway.

Still, Conner decides to trail after Clark and his date, because this woman who is not Lois is almost certainly with the League of Shadows, or something, whatever… she's not Lois Lane, and that's the main thing.

It turns out to be an amazingly boring date. They go to an Italian restaurant and then they go to the opera, which is so not Conner's cup of tea. After four hours of watching some screechy people sing in German, Clark ushers the woman out of the opera, and then, Conner notes with a sense of satisfaction, he shakes her hand, calls her a cab, and sends her off into the night. Then he sits down by the fountain in front of the opera house and looks down at his shoes. Conner takes it as a sign to stop his little sabbatical.

"So, it didn't work out?" he asks, as he sits down next to Clark and offers the older man one of those McDonalds apple pies, which he picked up during the second act.

"She's really nice," Clark says wistfully, as he opens the pie. "But, I asked her out for all the wrong reasons, and… I just felt really crummy about it. I could have taken her to Bruce's place, you know. She would have been really impressed. And then… but… that's not the kind of guy I am."

"Course you're not," Conner tells him with a smile. "Martha Kent raised you."

"Oh, that she did," Clark agrees, and takes a bite out of the pie. "Wanna bite?" he asks.

"Nah," Conner says. "They were two for a dollar," he tells him, and shows Clark the other one. "Besides, I don't like apple pie, except the one your mom makes."

"I still don't get that."

"I know you don't Clark."

Clark finishes his pie and eats the other one, and then, they head back home.

**To be continued...**

**Author's Notes: **Super hearing's a bitch, ain't it?


	15. At the First Sign of Danger

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 15: At the First Sign of Danger**

It's Jimmy who gives Conner the news the following Monday when Clark are in one of their meetings.

"Hey Supes, can you believe it?" Jimmy asks.

_Can I believe how incredibly annoying you are?_ Conner wonders to himself, but to Jimmy he only asks a disinterested, "What?"

"You mean, you haven't heard? Weird. The Chief's ecstatic about it. He even threw an impromptu pizza party for the interns."

"Well, what is it?" Conner asks.

"This morning CK finally agreed to go be a war correspondent. The Chief's been after him to go cover the Middle East for ages, you know, since his coverage of the Darkseid stuff was really top notch, and 'cuz Clark's so great at that human interest stuff and has a much better self-preservation instinct than Lois does. The Chief says CK's bound to have a Pulitzer in the bag by year's end."

"I can't believe it."

"Yeah, I know. Neither can the Chief. He asked me to pinch him, you know, 'cuz he's been after CK to do this for ages, and CK always comes up with some reason or another why he can't."

"Wow."

"Right? Hey—would you go with him? Like, when does your assignment end? I'm thinking of asking the Chief to send me with him—I'd love to try and do war stuff, there's some real pathos there."

"I guess," but Conner's stopped paying attention to Jimmy. He goes to the conference room where Clark and Lois are and waits for the meeting to end. Clark's the last one out, which is lucky, since it lets Conner push him back into the conference room and close the door behind him.

"Hey Superboy, what's up?" Clark asks, confused.

"Jimmy Olsen just told me you're going to go be a war correspondent in the Middle East?"

Clark pushes his glasses up. "Look. I thought it was time for a career change. So that's what I'm doing. Perry's been after me to do it since forever and a day, and there's _absolutely no reason_ for me to stay in Metropolis. There's literally _nothing_ for me here."

"But Clark…" Conner begins to protest.

"No. I want to leave. So I'm leaving."

"It's because of Lois, isn't it? Because she told you to get that waitress's number…"

"No. It's because I called that woman up, and we went on a very nice date, and the whole time, I couldn't stop feeling guilty, because I couldn't get Lois out of my head. And you know, as long as I keep working with Lois, coming in every day into the office, I'm not going to be able to get her out of my head."

Conner shakes his head, because he can't believe it. "No! That's just so stupid."

"You're right, it is stupid, and you don't know the half of it Superboy, but that's the way it is. I know you're trying to help, but you're not helping. So, please, just, stop meddling with this. Stop trying to—

"But, no, I don't understand… Why won't you fight for her? I _know_ you're not a coward. I _know_ you love her. And I mean, if you're going to leave anyway, why not just try? March up to her and just take her in your arms, and show her that you're every bit as strong and confident as S—

"Didn't you hear?" Clark barks out a laugh. "Lois doesn't want to 'settle' for me, and you know what? I don't want her to _settle_ for me either… I don't want her to hook up with dependable Clark because she can't have Superman. I don't want to be a consolation prize. And she doesn't even want me as a consolation prize! Bruce, him, she'll take as a consolation prize, but not dependable Clark! Not Clark the shy klutz who disappears at the first sign of—

"Danger…" Conner finishes the sentence for him, horrible realization dawning on his features. "She called you 'a shy klutz who disappears at the first sign of danger.' Those were her _exact_ words… but you weren't there… there's no way you could have—unless…" Conner can't bear to finish the sentence, but the look on Clark's face tells him everything he needs to know.

"Oh _fuck_," he says looking utterly defeated. He takes his glasses off to rub his eyes, and then he looks Conner straight in the face. "Look, Conner, I _swear_ I was going to tell you…"

But Conner's not really listening to what he's saying, because all he can do is look at the man's stunning blue eyes and wonder how he could have been so _incredibly_ blind.

"Oh, wow," is all Conner can say at first. "You must think this whole thing is hilarious, huh?"

"Conner," Superman sighs, putting the Clark Kent costume back on.

"Actually, you probably just think it's all really annoying…"

"No, Conner…" Superman reaches out for him, but Conner pulls back.

"You know what?" Conner asks, shaking his head wildly, "I am really sorry I 'meddled' in your life. But I guess, that's what Luthor made me for, huh? So maybe it was inevitable. Don't worry—I'll stop. Lois deserves _way_ better than you."

"Please, Conner… you need to let me explain," Superman pleads.

"No. I don't need to do anything and I don't need anything, at least not from you." That reminds him: Conner reaches into his pant pockets and pulls out his car keys. "I don't care how much M'gann likes this hunk of junk! You can keep it!" He hurtles the keys at Superman as fast as he can—Superman catches them and doesn't even stumble back under the momentum. "I hope you're very happy driving it in Afghanistan."

That's really all Conner can think to say, so he turns around, opens the door and marches out. He wants nothing in the world more than to run as fast as he can away from Superman, but he knows it'd be incredibly disruptive in a closed space like this, so he makes due with marching quickly while blinking back the bitter stinging at his eyes.

Superman follows of course, but Conner's moving too quickly for him to keep up if he's to pretend that he's the pathetic mortal Clark Kent.

After an eternity and a half, Conner's finally outside, but Superman is just a few steps behind him. Superman reaches out for Conner, and if Superman weren't lying, if he were wearing the goddam El-crest, there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do about it. But right now, it's broad day light and it looks like a mild mannered reporter is trying to restrain Superboy.

All it takes is one good tug, and Superman has no choice but to let go. Conner just needs to get away. Without even really knowing what he's doing, he pushes off, leaving Superman stranded on the ground below.

He hears Lois run out after them, "Jesus Clark, what the hell did you say to the kid?" she asks.

But Conner doesn't stay long enough to hear Superman lie through his teeth to Lois. He doesn't turn back to see the look on Lois's face. In fact, he doesn't turn back at all. He doesn't even fall.

**To be continued...**

**Original Author's Notes:**

So, this is a weird little chapter. I always meant for Conner to have a really bad reaction upon learning that Clark was Superman. I always meant for him to run off and leave Clark in the dust, unable to fly up after him because he was dressed as Clark Kent. What's gone through a bunch of revisions was _how_ and _why_ he found out. Before the Smallville detour, the idea I had had in my head was for Superboy to spend a lot of time and energy trying to get Lois to think that Superman was lame, and that this would upset Clark enough (for a variety of reasons) to get Clark to blurt out something really hurtful, along the lines of, "The last thing I need in my life right now is for some science fair project gone wrong to interfere with my love life." For obvious reasons, that was probably always a bad call, but it became really obvious to me after Smallville, and _especially_ after that visit to Luthor that no matter how frustrated Clark could get with his stupidly complicated love triangle with himself, he wasn't going to be cruel to Superboy that way.

So, basically, I freaked out, because I didn't have a climax anymore.

Then, I came upon such a stupidly simple solution, I wasn't sure why I hadn't thought of it before, why it was Plan B rather than Plan A. Clark would just eventually get to the point where he'd really like Conner, and he'd tell him. Maybe he'd even be encouraged by seeing how well Lois reacted to finding out Bruce was Batman. And then Conner would freak out and run away.

But then, this is what I wrote instead, and it's all Lois's fault. Clark _was_ going to tell Conner (and if he had, Conner still probably would have freaked out and run away), but he got sidetracked with the Lois stuff. So, oddly, I ended up going with something closer to my original idea, and I hope replacing cruelty with despair and carelessness works.

I wrote the "Conner finds out Clark is Superman" dialogue first, and then I went and powered through the intro stuff... I didn't really want to write all that stuff, so I hope it isn't total crap. As I said, I powered through it.

Mostly, what's left is denouement, though I do have a couple of cards left to play.

**New Author's Notes: **I've just posted a bunch of chapters. I'm going to take a break now, because, well, a climax just happened, and it seems like an opportune moment to leave you hanging. Also, I have exams to study for.

If you want to cheer me up, a review would be nice. :)


	16. Reasonable Expectations

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 16: Reasonable Expectations  
**

* * *

Conner doesn't even realize what's happening until he flies through a cloud and emerges from it soaked. Maybe it's the shock of the cold water, or the surprise that he's _finally_ flying, but it's enough to make him forget everything, and as he breaks into the stratosphere, he can't repress the smile on his face.

The first coherent thought he forms is about M'gann and the awesome things they can now do in the clouds.

But after about an hour of exhilaration and fantasy, he realizes that he has no idea how to steer, and that's how he ends floating aimlessly over the Greenland and with no idea of how to get back to America. And after another hour of floating without a direction, it starts to get cold. And then it gets dark, and then it gets really cold. The cold and the darkness ground Conner and he just wants to crumple up and cry, except he won't give Superman the satisfaction.

Conner knows he should call Red Tornado or Captain Marvel, who could fly to find him, but he doesn't just want a guide home… he wants someone to talk to, and, well, Red Tornado is still figuring out the whole Touring Test thing, and Captain Marvel is sort of a little kid.

He feels impossibly guilty as he does it, but eventually, he gives in and calls Batman.

But of course, Batman doesn't answer the League communicator. Which, is good, because, Batman's supposed to be resting because Batman almost died. But Conner just wants to talk, and there's no one else to talk to, so he takes out his cell (international roaming be damned) and calls the number Batman gave him.

Alfred's voice answers, "Master Conner, is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine," Conner answers, but the breaking of his voice betrays him.

"Conner, what's wrong?" Batman's voice asks.

And Conner's ready to lie and tell Batman that everything's fine, but instead all that comes out is a garbled mess , "Ihate'im, Ihate'im, Ihate'im!"

"Who?" Batman asks calmly.

"You know who!"

Batman sighs, "What did the idiot do?"

"He lied to me!" Conner realizes, and then, he realizes something. "You lied to me,"

"I told you I couldn't tell you everything. I told you I didn't think Kent needed a body guard."

"I'm so _incredibly_ stupid."

"No. You're not."

"I was living with him; I look just like him. God—I'm his fucking clone—I look at his face every single goddamn day in the mirror—

"Conner!" Batman's voice cuts him off sharply. "Stop!"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not stupid. Clark fools everyone. Lois Lane's worked with him for nearly ten years. Lex Luthor's a twelfth level intellect and he hasn't figured it out. The only reason I know Clark Kent is Superman is because I put a tracker on his cape and followed him home.

"Did you just find out?"

"No," Conner's voice breaks again, and he feels hot tears sting at his eyes. "I… it was several hours ago."

"Oh." Batman seems confused. Then angry: "I didn't know. He didn't tell me."

"Yeah," Conner rolls his eyes as he wipes his cheek dry. "Why would he? He doesn't tell anyone anything."

"Do you want to come to Gotham?" Batman offers.

"I'm sort of stuck," Conner confesses.

"Where are you?" Batman asks, concern evident in his voice.

"I think I'm somewhere over Greenland."

"You're flying?"

"Yeah. I… uh… don't really know how to steer. Can you, um, send someone to come get me?"

"Someone will be there in fifteen minutes. Batman out."

* * *

Conner can't believe his eyes when he sees Superman fly over the horizon.

"I can't believe Batman sent _you_," Conner says, incredulous that Batman would betray him like this.

"He didn't," Superman answers. "I wasn't able to get away from Lois until just now. I found you with the signal from your—

"Look, I really don't want to talk to you. And frankly, you've ne never wanted to talk to me. You've never had a problem leaving, so please, don't let that change now."

Superman sighs. "Look, I know you're angry with me—

"You have no idea how I feel. Look, just _go_. Go away."

"You have no idea how to fly, do you?"

"Thank you for pointing that out," Conner says.

Superman's face softens. "That's not what I meant… Conner—

"No. I told you already—You don't get to call me by that name."

"Ok, ok. That's fine. I get that. But, let me help you figure out how to fly back to—

"Get it through your thick skull: I. Don't. Need. You. Batman said he was sending someone. I'll be perfectly fine. Without you. Like always."

Suddenly Superman's eyes widen, "Oh, god no…"

"What?" But Conner hears it soon enough, the low rumbling of engines. It's hard to see it in the darkness, but it's not Red Tornado or Captain Marvel, or any of the other flying Leaguers. But then, even with the darkness, the ship's distinctive shape becomes un-mistakable: it's the Batwing, and although the ship's lined with lead, Conner can see Batman's unmasked face through the windshield, and suddenly Conner's very sorry he didn't just go with Superman.

The Batwing stops right in front of them and opens.

Superman rubs his eyes. "Bruce, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing here?" Batman asks Superman with special hostility. "I'm cleaning up your mess Clark, like I've been doing for a while."

It looks like a miracle when Batman stands up, but then Conner notices the exosuit Batman's wearing. Batman steps onto the plane's wing and holds his hand out to Conner, then pulls him down onto the plane. Once his feet touch something firm, it's over: walking is walking. It's easy. He follows Batman into the cockpit.

"Bruce," Superman says.

"_What_?" Batman asks.

"You can't seriously be thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"Well, as I'm not a Martian, I don't know what you think I'm thinking…"

"You're not going to follow Leslie's advice. You're going to go straight back to crimefighting with that exosuit."

"I can't stop being Batman for a year."

"You're an idiot," Superman snarls.

"Me? I'm an idiot?" Batman asks. "Because, from where I'm standing, this whole mess, is your fault. You _stole_ from me! You published information that I specifically told you _not_ to publish. I knew that information wasn't enough to convict Luthor! All you've done is minorly inconvenienced him and imperiled not only the very existence of the Justice League, but also my ability to operate as Batman.

"But you know what? All of that pales with the endless amount of grief you've put Conner through—

"Look!" Superman pleads, "I _know_ I screwed up. I know I screwed up really badly, but he showed up out of nowhere. You can't reasonably have expected me to—

"I'm sorry Clark," Batman interrupts, suddenly sounding exhausted. "I can't talk to you right now."

"What?"

"Reasonable expectations, Clark? If you think this is about reasonable expectations, you and I aren't speaking the same language, and I can't talk to you right now. You know what, you're right. You couldn't reasonably be expected to do anything. But you know what else, Clark? Children aren't about reasonable expectations. They don't choose to be born, they don't choose to be put where they end up. Or what? Do you think Jonathan and Martha Kent could reasonably have been expected to stop by the side of the road, approach a spaceship, and take the little alien inside home? You'd have to be absolutely crazy to do that! But they didn't ask themselves, can we reasonably be expected to take in this little alien toddler?"

"So, what? Because my parents desperately wanted a child, I should have fatherhood thrust upon me?"

Batman sighs and shakes his head. "I'm too tired for this." He pushes the button to close the Batwing, but Superman holds it open.

"You're going to break my plane," Batman says impatiently.

"I'm not letting you make me look like a bad guy here."

"Clark, I'm really very tired. Please let us go."

"No."

"Ok. Let's do this." Batman closes his eyes for a second, then he takes something from his utility belt. It's an old piece of paper. "Do you know what this is?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "It's Alfred's two week's notice. It's dated a week and a half before the day my parents were murdered. He'd gotten a job offer at MI6—it was his dream job, and it would have let him go back to England. My parents had actually already filled the position. And you know what? He could have left. I would have been fine. It's not like I didn't have a family. Grand-Uncle Silas could have taken me in. He was old, but you know, that's what boarding schools are for. I couldn't reasonably have expected him to stay, to give up his dreams of serving the Queen in order to take care of a little rich orphan as his butler. But you know what? I was a child; I'd just seen my parents murdered, and he was the only person in the world I knew and trusted, and I _did_ expect him to stay. So don't talk to me about reasonable expectations. Now get the hell out of my way."

Superman does as he's told. The ride back to Gotham is long and quiet. Finally, Conner breaks the silence, "Thanks. But you shouldn't have come."

""I'm sorry I couldn't tell you everything before," Batman apologizes.

"No. You warned me about it. And I get it. Superman's entitled to his secret identity, even if he is a complete and utter jerk."

"Clark's an idiot."

"Yeah, I know Superman—

"No. I mean, _Clark_'s an idiot. He doesn't know how to deal with people, not people that matter to him. Kid Flash said you met Lana…"

"Wally reports to you? I thought that was Kaldur's job."

"Kaldur's job is to report to me. Wally texts Dick like there's no tomorrow. But he said you met Lana Lang."

"Yeah. She was kind of strange, she wouldn't stop-_Oh._," it hits him. "It's because I look like Superman. I look like him. I was even wearing his clothes."

"It's because you look like Clark Kent did when he was eighteen years old. And do you know what Clark Kent did when he was eighteen years old?"

Conner shrugs. "Go off to college?" he guesses.

"He took her to the prom. And then, after the dance, he told her about his superpowers."

"Oh." Conner isn't sure where this is going.

"Conner, what do you think M'gann would think if you took her to the prom, and then afterwards asked her to go on a walk with you, _alone_, because you had something very important that you wanted to tell her?"

For a second, he has no idea where Batman is going with this, but then he realizes what M'gann would think if he did that. He groans and sinks his head into his hands. "She thought he was going to ask her to marry him. And instead, he told her that he was an alien who could fly."

"She's still in love with him. Not with Superman the Man of Steel, with Clark Kent, the earnest farm boy. And Clark has no idea.

"And I don't need to explain to you the thing with Lois."

"Clark Kent loves Lois Lane. Lois Lane loves Superman. Clark Kent is Superman, so there shouldn't be any problem. But instead, Superman doesn't make a move because he wants her to be in love with Clark, and Clark doesn't make a move because he thinks he has no chance against Superman." He shakes his head. "Yeah. You're right. He's an idiot."

"He didn't know how to react to you when you first showed up. I don't know why. In retrospect, I don't think I helped when I tried to convince him to be more involved because you needed a father.

"After the Luthor incident, he was too ashamed to show his face to you. He was going to come to your birthday party though. He bought you that car, partially because he wanted it and needed an excuse to spend a ridiculous amount of money on it, but partially because in his brain he thought it would give him an excuse to be around you if you needed someone to teach you how to drive. What he failed to take into consideration was that he didn't need an excuse to be around you, and that these sorts of schemes are best left to the professionals. The whole thing fell apart when his dad had a heart attack—it was the same day as the party at the Batcave. And later, again, he was too ashamed to show his face, and he didn't have an excuse anymore because Cadmus had programmed you with the knowledge of how to drive."

Conner shakes his head again in disbelief. "You're totally right. He's a total idiot." Then he pauses. "But the fact that he's an idiot doesn't mean he's not an asshole."

"That's fair," Batman says evenly. "And if you don't want to give him another chance, that's fair too. He's had enough chances and he's blown them all."

"I," Conner pauses, "I don't want to give him another chance. At least, not for a while. A guy can only stand so much disappointment."

"As I said, that's fair. I'll take you off guard duty for Clark. I can assign you to the Kents, if you would like."

"Can, can I still be friends with the Kents, even though their son is Superman?"

"Martha and Jonathan like you, and they're not particularly pleased with their son's behavior. At least Martha isn't. I don't think it'd be a problem."

"Ok. Yeah. I… I really like them."

"And they really like you. I'll transfer you there, then, and put Artemis and Wally on guard duty for Clark."

"Wait, but he's Superman," Conner interjects. "He doesn't need a bodyguard."

"Maybe not. But the League voted on it, and the vote was to give him a guard. Besides, we can't exactly have bullets bouncing off our dear Mr. Kent. And if someone does come after him, Artemis and Kid Flash will be in a much better position than Clark to go after any would-be assailants."

Batman's earlier words ring in Conner's ears: "_The only reason I have assented to have you guard Clark Kent is because you're the only one of your teammates who could take a bullet for him and be no worse for wear."_

"But Artemis and Wally are fragile," Conner argues. "Wally can run and stuff, but he's not invulnerable. And Artemis, Artemis doesn't have any powers at all."

"Neither do I. Neither does Robin."

"But it's stupid. Stupid to risk Artemis and Wally for the sake of friggin' Superman, who can't get hurt _at all_."

"Be that as it may, the League requires that I assign a bodyguard to Clark Kent, and for the moment, Artemis and Kid Flash are all I have. I can't afford to have a regular Leaguer drop everything and guard Kent."

Conner shakes his head. "No. You can't do that. I'll stay and guard Kent. You said it before; I'm the only one of my teammates who could take a bullet for him and be no worse for wear."

Batman looks at him long and hard.

"Are you sure?"

Conner doesn't hesitate for an instant. "Yes."

"Very well. But remember what else I said, I do not want you to put yourself in danger for the sake of Clark Kent."

Conner nods, and it's settled.

* * *

Getting Batman out of the exosuit is a nightmare: Batman sits the suit down and opens it, but that's all he can do—he needs Conner to take him out of the suit and carry him into the wheelchair. Physically, it's child's play. Conner can lift tons. But Batman's limp body feels so much heavier than it should.

Above the cave there's a mansion.

Alfred is waiting for them, arms crossed. "Of all the stupid, _reckless_—

"What the hell was I supposed to do, Alfred? Leave him hanging over Greenland?"

"You could have sent me. You could have sent Master Richard. You could have sent Miss M'gann in her bioship."

"I didn't think that was appropriate," Batman answers tersely.

The scowl on Alfred's face deepens and Conner can't help but step between Alfred and Batman.

"Please," he pleads, "Batman, he… I needed him."

Alfred sighs and his shoulders sag. "I know Master Conner… but if Master Bruce is to be believed, the whole world needs him."

"It does," Conner says, as if though he were saying that the sky is blue.

"If that's the case, he'd do the world no favors by getting himself killed."

"I know what I'm doing Alfred."

"I know what you're doing too. Leslie was quite clear—you require bed rest and physical therapy—the strain the exosuit puts on your heart _will_ kill you."

"Don't be dramatic Alfred. Leslie said it _could_ kill me. I've installed controls to alert me when the pressure is dangerously high."

"Because we all know you're so good at listening to warnings."

"No one knows my limits better than me," Batman says defensively. Then he sighs. "Can we please talk about this later, Alfred? Conner's had a long day, and I'm exhausted."

Alfred presses his lips together tightly, but eventually he uncrosses his arms and nods. Alfred steps behind Batman and takes the wheelchair by the handles. "Let's get you ready for bed then, Master Bruce.

"Master Conner, Master Richard and Miss M'gann are downstairs in the den. If you wish, you may ask Master Richard to take you to the kitchen—there are still some leftovers from dinner. I will be right back to set you up in one of the guest rooms." With that, Alfred turns around and pushes Batman away, leaving Conner by himself.

He goes downstairs and finds the den by sight—incredibly, the Manor's walls aren't lined with lead, and he can see through them to find where Conner and M'gann are playing Super Mario Galaxy.

* * *

Leftovers at Wayne Manor are apparently like Thanksgiving dinner at most American households. There's an overwhelming variety of options.

"Hey, Robin?" Conner asks.

"You can call me Dick," Robin says.

"It's just you and Batman and Alfred here most of the time, right?"

"Yeah," Robin says. "And you can call him Bruce."

"Why's there so much food? If it's just the three of you?"

Robin shrugs. "Wally visits often enough—but I think mainly it's because Bruce tends to forget to eat—Alfred uses the variety to tempt him."

Conner sighs. "Alfred was angry at Batman for going to pick me up."

"No," Robin says tersely. "Alfred was livid. But it wasn't about you. Don't worry about that."

"I… I wasn't worried about that," Conner says. "But… I… I didn't know that Batman was going to come for me himself. I… I shouldn't have called him."

"Of course you should have called him," Robin says. "He just should have been enough of a grown-up to send someone else for you."

"He was just looking out for me… it was my fault I got stuck in the first place."

Robin sighs. "Conner, it didn't take him fifteen minutes to whip up that exosuit—one of the first things he did once he could talk was ask Lucius to whip it up from a LexCorp patent. You gave him an excuse to try it out, but he was going to put it on sooner or later. The thing you have to understand about Bruce is that there's something inside of him, something that drives him to sacrifice _everything_ for the sake of his mission."

"I guess that's what seeing your parents murdered does to you," Conner says.

"No," Robin says. "My parents were murdered in front of me too."

Conner's eyes widen. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

Robin shrugs. "It's ok. It was a long time ago. That's why Bruce took me in. Why I became Robin. But I'm not going to experiment with untested neural interfacers because of it."

"Neural interfacers?" M'gann asks.

"LexCorp was working on a new weapons suit it could market to the US Army that would connect directly with the wearer's central nervous system, allowing them to wear the suit like a second skin—the only problem is that the interface isn't perfect. It has a 58% lobotomization rate in anything more advanced than a lab rat. The only reason Bruce hasn't plugged himself in is because Lucius flatly refused to fiddle with the technology and Alfred threatened to quit."

Conner looks down at his plate, and suddenly he's not hungry anymore. He'll have to talk to Batman tomorrow. Maybe Lois's idea, of having him pretend to be Batman while Batman gets better would be an acceptable compromise to Batman. He hadn't seemed offended by the idea when Lois suggested it.

The three of them just sit in silence, until Alfred appears, frown on his face.

"I believe, Master Richard, that it is past your bedtime, and you, Master Conner, have had a very exciting day. Off to bed with the lot of you. Master Richard, I've taken the liberty of arranging the Blue Room for Master Conner, if you would be so kind as to take him there."

Robin nods, and leads Conner and M'gann down what seems like a maze of corridors, then up the stairs, then down another maze of corridors.

Conner had thought that the Blue Room would be called the Blue Room because it was blue. But it's not. It's a tastefully decorated room done up in neutral colors.

"I don't get it," M'gann says, "my room is the Pink Room… and it's pink. Why isn't the Blue Room blue?"

Robin points at a painting of a child with a bowl. "Because that painting is from the Blue Period."

"What's a Blue Period?" M'gann asks.

Conner's response is automatic and involuntary: "The Blue Period (Spanish: _Periodo Azul_) is a term used to define to the works produced by Spanish painter Pablo Picasso between 1901 and 1904, when he painted essentially monochromatic paintings in shades of blue and blue-green, only occasionally warmed by other colors."

Robin smiles, and Conner knows what's going to happen next: "Hey Conner, why don't you tell Miss M who Picasso was?"

"Spanish painter, sculptor, printmaker, ceramicist, and stage designer. One of the greatest and most influential artists of the 20th century, widely known for co-founding the Cubist movement, the invention of constructed sculpture, the co-invention of collage, and for the wide variety of styles that he helped develop and explore. Among his most famous works are the proto-Cubist Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, and Guernica, a portrayal of the German bombing of Guernica during the Spanish Civil War. Born 1881, died 1973."

"What was his full name?" Robin asks.

"Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso," Conner answers automatically in a single breath.

"Dick, that's enough!" M'gann intercedes.

Robin laughs. "Sorry… it's just, that _never_ gets old."

M'gann glares at Robin.

"I'm not sure why Alfred bothered to make up the room, though," Conner admits frankly. "Can't I just stay with M'gann?"

"Alfred did it because it was the proper thing to do. If you want to spend the night with M'gann, you should at least make it look like you slept here—Alfred will know you didn't—he's Batman's Batman, but at least he'll appreciate the gesture."

Conner furrows his brow in confusion. "He'll appreciate that I'm making more work for him?"

"Alfred lives to serve."

"No he doesn't," Conner answers. "Batman told Superman… Alfred was going to go work for MI6.

"Huh," Robin says. "I guess that explains a lot." Then he claps his hands. "Ok, you two lovebirds, as Alfred said, it's past my bedtime. Not often I get a chance to go to bed before 3am, so I'm not going to pass this up." Then he disappears, like a ninja.

Conner turns to M'gann. "Do you think he was kidding, about making it look like I slept here?"

M'gann shrugs, but then psychically moves the pillows and bed sheets.

"Of course," she says, "No reason not to sleep in this bed…" she smiles and pushes him over backwards. "Of course, it'd be unhygienic if you slept in your clothes…" Her smile deepens as she climbs on top of him and begins to unfasten his belt. Her clothes melt away into something a little more revealing.

Conner pulls her hands away from his pants and pulls her up against him.

"Another time?" he pleads, "tonight, I just want to hold you tight and pretend that I never have to let go."

M'gann nods against his chest and wraps her arms around his neck.

They lie there for a while, together, under the heavy down comforter, limbs tangled together, and Conner imagines that this is what Heaven must feel like, if Heaven admitted grief.


	17. Wayne Manor

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 17: Wayne Manor  
**

* * *

Two hours later, Conner still can't sleep. His hand strokes M'gann's hair, and he looks at her sleeping form in the moonlight.

The Manor is quiet, but for the sounds of breathing and beating hearts. Robin's having a dream of some sort, thrashing about quietly.

Alfred is snoring.

Batman is sleeping quietly.

Then a breathing pattern changes, and Conner realizes Batman's awake again. He waits for a minute, then five, after ten, it seems like Batman isn't going back to sleep any time soon, so Conner disentangles himself from M'gann, doing his best not to wake her. He pulls the covers over her and presses a light kiss to her forehead. The door creaks as he opens it, but M'gann doesn't stir.

He wishes he knew how to fly—the Manor is old and the floorboards creak under the weight of his footsteps. He can't help but wonder how Robin manages to be so light on his feet.

His x-ray vision confirms it when he's at Batman's door. He's about to knock, when Batman's voice calls forth, "You can come in Conner, it's open."

He opens the door and finds Batman lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I couldn't sleep," Conner confesses.

"That makes two of us," Batman answers. Then he bites his lip and adds a second later, "Can I ask you to prop me up?"

Conner goes to Batman, and as gently as he can, he pulls the man up and places the pillows behind him so he can stay up.

"God, I hate being a fucking cripple," Batman says bitterly, and Conner's a bit taken aback, because he's never seen this side of Batman.

"Language," Conner chides, as Batman normally chides him.

It gets a faint smile out of the older man. Conner takes the opportunity to sit on Batman's bed. He places a hand that's meant to be comforting on Batman's leg, but the gesture has the opposite result.

"I can't feel that," Batman says bitterly.

Conner pulls back, as if though he'd burned his hand.

Then he looks at it in the moonlight, as if checking that he really has five fingers.

"You're not a cripple," Conner says, not quite meeting Batman's eyes. "You're still Batman. You still have a brilliant mind and a kind heart, and that's what makes you Batman."

"I think most people would disagree with you on that point," Batman answers.

"I don't think Superman would," Conner says. "Or Robin. You're going to be fine, as long as you listen what your doctors say."

Batman smiles bitterly. "You mean, so long as I lie back useless. I can't do that. I can't leave Gotham without Batman. I shouldn't do it for a day. I certainly can't do it for a year."

"Gotham was standing before you were Batman," Conner says before he realizes it was exactly the wrong thing to say. Batman's face contorts in ugly anger. Batman's never looked at him like that before.

"Before I was Batman, Gotham was a place where punks with guns got away with murder," Batman snarls, and Conner knows he's hit exactly the wrong nerve. And he doesn't know what to say or do, because suddenly the world is turned upside down, and the most constant source of wisdom and stability in his life is glaring at him, as if though he'd just admitted to dumping arsenic in the water supply.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he backtracks as quickly as he can. "That's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm so stupid."

Batman's face softens. Conner hides the satisfaction that comes with the success of his gambit. "No, Conner, you're not stupid, and I don't ever want to hear you say that again."

"Still, I'm so sorry. I didn't think," he reaches out for Batman's hand and take is in his. This, he knows, Batman _can_ feel. He takes Batman's hand and brings it up against his forehead. "It's just… we're all so worried about you."

Batman's face softens even further. "Conner," he says softly, "I don't want you to worry about me… you have enough things to worry about as it is."

"I can't help it," Conner smiles. "I love you. You're hurt. Of course I'm going to worry about you. And you have plenty of things to worry about too… it's never kept you from worrying about me."

Conner does his best to look cute. He overplays it and Batman laughs. "You're trying to manipulate me. You're getting ridiculously good at that. I almost didn't notice."

"Nah, I suck at it. I should leave it to the pros. Look at what happened when I tried to manipulate Lois and Clark."

"To be fair," Batman smiles, "that probably would have worked a lot better if you'd known Clark had superhearing."

"I was thinking," Conner says, changing the topic. "You know, about what Lois said."

"The venerable Miss Lane says a lot of things," Batman says slowly, "what in particular did she say that you were thinking about?"

"A couple of things, but mostly, about how she said I could pretend to be you, you know, while you got better." Batman's eyes widen, but before he can veto the idea outright, Conner proceeds to explain himself as quickly as he can. "I know I'm not you, and I know I'm not nearly as good as you, and I know that if anyone other than you should wear the Batsuit, it should be Robin—believe me, I learned that my first Halloween—but I'm here, and I'm more or less the right body-type to pass as you, and where I lack combat skills, I'm at least invulnerable, and I can just drop out of school now, if I'm not going to college anyway, and get a GED instead, and then I'll have enough free time, and you can still be the brains of the operation."

Batman is silent for a while. His face unreadable. When he finally speaks, his tone is so neutral that Conner doesn't know what to make of it. "It's not a terrible idea. I'll take it under consideration. But you're not dropping out of high school."

Conner lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "There's another thing."

"Oh?"

"I don't want to be Superboy anymore."

"Oh."

"It's not just because of Superman," Conner says. "Lois brought it up. I'm not really a boy. I've never been affiliated with Superman. It's time I was my own man."

Batman nods silently.

"I haven't really thought it out through yet… but I… yeah."

"Have you thought of a name yet?"

"No," Conner admits.

"And how does this fit into your proposal to fill in as Batman?" Batman asks.

Conner shrugs. "I can put the name change off until after then. Or, I can be Batman full time and then come back new and improved."

"It's something to think about. There's an old Kryptonian legend… Clark told me about it once, about a masked vigilante, not unlike me. He was called Nightwing."

Conner makes a face. "Kind of a girly name, don't you think?"

Batman laughs. "Don't tell Robin that. He thinks it's the coolest name ever. He even drew a costume for it. I'll show it to you, some other time… but you have to take into account he was nine when he drew it."

"That bad?"

"Think disco, make it worse, and then, it's still not as bad as you think."

Conner chuckles. "Any other Kryptonian heroes?"

"Only one that I know of, Flamebird."

"Pass. Sounds like a ballet."

"No, that's the Firebird Suite you're thinking of. We'll think of something. But in the meantime, you should get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be an interesting day."

"Ok. Do you want me to put you back down?"

"No, leave it. The window is a more pleasant sight than the ceiling."

"Ok, good night Batman."

"You can call me Bruce, you know."

"But, you're Batman," Conner protests.

Batman smiles fondly. "Finally, someone who gets it."

Conner leaves Batman and goes back to find M'gann, pulling her close as he gets back into bed with her.

[Is everything alright?] she thinks to him.

"Yeah darling, just go back to sleep," he tells her softly and kisses her temple.

She curls around him. [I was having such a nice dream—wanna come in?]

He knows all he has to do to is give his mental assent. So he opens the doors of his mind, and feels as M'gann pulls him into her dreams. And what nice dreams they are.

The next morning, Alfred prepares a veritable feast for breakfast.

"Isn't Bat—I mean, Bruce, joining us?" Conner asks.

"No, Master Bruce will take his breakfast in bed," Alfred explains, as he readies a tray of food.

Once he's gone, Robin explains: "He doesn't like letting people see how Alfred has to feed him.

By 10:30, Batman rolls into the kitchen.

"I've confirmed with Clark that he's going to work today and that you'll still be on detail, at least until the end of the week when he leaves for the Middle East—

"Wait, I thought he was leaving later."

"Apparently, he's decided to run away from his problems even sooner. The League has decided that in becoming a war correspondent, he has assumed too much risk, and that when he leaves, he will no longer be afforded League protection… mainly because the League can't offer to body guard everyone who goes into a war zone.

"Also, I have mentioned your proposal to the League. While I retain the right to make the ultimate decision, we will be discussing the issue this coming Tuesday, and I should be able to come to my decision and inform you of it by the time Clark leaves Metropolis for Baghdad."

Conner nods, while Robin and M'gann send him quizzical looks, but Batman doesn't give them an opportunity to ask any questions.

"Robin and Miss Martian, you're off on patrol: start with Crime Alley and East End. If M'gann can make an appearance as me at the Iceberg, I'd appreciate it.

"Conner, you'll be zetabeaming back to Metropolis—my penthouse in Metropolis is tied into the system. You should rendezvous with Clark at the Planet. Any trouble, call me—I mean it."

"Yes sir."

"Alright, you all have your assignments—Conner, come with me—I have some research I have to do in the Cave."

Robin and M'gann disperse, and Conner follows Batman down into the Batcave.

"What kind of research are you going to do?" Conner asks.

"You and Clark both suspect Luthor was behind Joker's escape from Arkham… it's an idea worth investigating," Batman says, but the slight quickening of his heart beat betrays that he's lying and it breaks Conner's heart. But there's nothing much he can do, other than to bow down and hug Batman tightly against him.

"Take care of yourself."

"Call if there's trouble."

"I will," Conner says, and this time, it's him who's lying. He won't give Batman another excuse to recklessly endanger himself.


	18. Clark's Last Day

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 18: Clark's Last Day  
**

* * *

He teleports to Metropolis, and makes his way to the Planet.

Lois sees him the minute he gets into the newsroom, and she looks ecstatic to see him. She runs to him, as fast as she can, which isn't very fast, not only is she human, but she's wearing high heals.

"Con," she whispers, "where did you go?"

"Greenland, then Gotham."

Lois looks confused. "What were you doing in Greenland?"

"I, er, accidentally drifted there. I can fly now, apparently, but I don't know how. Then I called Batman, and he came to pick me up, it was kind of a disaster."

"I can see how that would be a problem, yeah. I bet Alfred was livid."

"Pretty much."

"You know, I bet I can bully Superman into teaching you how to fly…"

Conner laughs sadly. "No. It's ok. He already volunteered. I turned him down. He hasn't helped me with any of my other powers, I can figure this one out on my own. Or, with my girlfriend."

Lois elbows him lightly. "You dog."

"Lucky, lucky dog," Conner admits shamelessly.

"But, that doesn't tell me why you ran off," Lois says.

"I was just… really mad at Clark."

"Any idea what's gotten into him?"

"An inkling, but it's really not my place to tell you."

"Since when are you Mr. Privacy?"

"I've always been 'Mr. Privacy'—I just broke character because we had an extraordinary situation on our hands."

Lois Lane looks supremely unimpressed. She crosses her arms and glares at him in a more than adequate impression of Batman.

"If you're not telling me, I can only assume it's me. He's been avoiding me all day, and yesterday, while I grilled him about why you ran off, he wouldn't make eye contact."

"I… er…" Conner looks away. "You remember that waitress?

"The one who was totally into him?"

"Yeah. Well, he called her up, they went on a date, and, I think, I think she-may-have-told-him-what-you-said. About him. You know. About him not being like Superman."

Lois grimaces. "Fuck!" She stops her foot. "Shit." Then for good measure, she says "Fuckfuckfuck! He wasn't supposed to hear that."

"Yeah. I know."

"Fuck. Where does that little bitch get off—wait until I get my hands on her—

"Wait," suddenly there's a new horror in her violet eyes, "please, _please_ tell me this isn't why he's suddenly decided to let Perry make him a war correspondent."

Conner smiles sadly. Maybe he can make this work after all. Though now he's not so sure he wants to set Lois and Clark up together anymore. "I can tell you any lie you want Lois."

"Fuck. That's the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard. He's going to get himself killed."

"Oh, I don't know Lois," Superman suddenly interrupts and Conner wonders how he missed the Man of Steel's approach. "I'm pretty good at running at the first sign of danger."

Lois visibly cringes. She swirls around fast and accidentally knocks the coffee Superman is holding into his shirt, spilling coffee all over his white shirt.

"And I guess that's me being a klutz," he says grimly. "Well, I guess I should go take care of this."

And Superman turns away, towards the bathroom.

It takes Lois a second to recover. When she does she shoves Conner. "_Con!_ Go after him! We have to _fix_ this mess!"

He doesn't really want to go, but he can't think of a handy excuse to give Lois, so he nods, and follows after Superman slowly.

Superman's locked himself in the handicap accessible bathroom.

"Let me in, or I'll break the door down," Conner says.

"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin," Superman answers.

"What… what the heck does that even mean?" Conner asks, thoroughly confused.

"You don't know?" Superman says, like it's one of those obvious things every five year old knows. Superman unlocks the door and lets Conner in, closing the door behind him. His shirt is in the sink, leaving Superman wearing his trousers over his Superman ensemble. He's still wearing the glasses. It might be the weirdest thing Conner's ever seen, and for a superhero, that's saying something.

"It's from 'The Three Little Pigs'," Superman says. "There are three pigs, one lives in a house made of straw, one lives in a house made of twigs, and one lives in a house made of bricks. The Big Bad Wolf comes to each pig in turn and threatens to blow their houses down unless they let him in. Each time the pigs reply 'not by the hair of my chinny chin chin', so he huffs and he puffs, and he blows the house down. Except for the one made out of bricks."

"That's a terrible story," Conner says.

"It's for little kids, not exactly supposed to be Dostoyevsky," Superman says as he goes back to washing his shirt.

"Why'd you let me in?"

"Because you didn't know the story. And because Lois sent you, and if I didn't let you in, Lois would force her way in eventually. But can you please leave? Go tell Lois I'm alright. I'll be out in a moment."

"Of course I can leave," Conner answers. "It'd be my pleasure. You're not exactly my favorite person in the world."

"No I imagine not," Superman says. "Big club these days: You, Luthor, Bruce, Lois. Hell, even my own mother's mad at me."

"Oh, grow up!" Conner spits out. "I wanted nothing more than a scrap of your attention, and I almost got myself and Kid Flash killed trying to get it. Why the hell should I give you the time of day now? And Batman… you have no idea the crap he's going through right now. But worst of all—you're mad because Lois Lane's in love with Superman? Newsflash: you _are_ Superman. Get your head out of your ass and just tell her."

Superman capitalizes on his sigh to dry the shirt. "Newsflash," he echoes bitterly, "There is no such person as Superman. Superman is just a suit I put on so that I can sometimes indulge myself in the delusion that I can have anything resembling a normal life.

"_I_ don't like cheering children and swooning women. _I_ can't stand that people wear t-shirts with my family's crest. _I_ hate the fact that everyone always looks to me to solve their problems, like there's anything special about me.

"I'm maybe not a klutz. But I _am_ shy. I _hate_ every. Single. Time. I have to get on a podium and be the face of the Justice League. My posture's terrible; I like to slouch. It drives me crazy when people look at me like I'm the moon.

"Hell! I don't even like primary colors. I have no fashion sense: white shirts and navy suits, all the way. Or plaid shirts and jeans.

"My idea of a good time is driving cross country, or a quiet night in with the folks, or reading a good book, or watching the game.

"I go to church every Sunday. I have dinner with my parents once a week. I help my dad with the farm when I can. The only reason I put on this suit is because I have all this incredible power, and I can do good with it.

"But at the end of the day? I'm just a shy cornball from Smallville, Kansas, who's still flabbergasted every time he looks up at LexCorp Tower, because, gee whiz, how did we make a building so _tall_?"

And then Superman deflates.

"And none of that appeals to Lois." He pushes his glasses up. "And, if it turned out that Superman was just… well, you know… Smallville… maybe she wouldn't love _him_ either. And if Lois Lane didn't love, at least a part of me… I… I think I would die."

Superman takes his glasses off and stares at Conner. And for the first time, Conner sees the Man of Steel, with his soul laid bare, and it turns out, he's just a man.

Conner is speechless for a minute. Then he remembers who he's talking to.

"Yeah, sorry. I never realized you were a coward."

Without a word, Clark puts the glasses back on.

"Because, you know, she might think Superman is lame, or, she might realize that everything she really loves and admires about Superman is really Clark Kent… except… I think she finds Superman's courage appealing, and you're a coward.

"Kinda cruel of you though, to string her along and let her be in love with someone who doesn't exist. Though, now that I think of it, you're perfectly capable of being cruel, and no one knows that better than me."

Conner unlocks the door and leaves.

Lois is waiting at the end of the hall. "He'll be right out," he tells her. "He's just drying his shirt with the hand dryer."

Superman—Clark—whoever the hell he is—doesn't say anything to either him or Lois for the rest of the day. It's just once it's late that he tersely informs him that he's flying to the Fortress of Solitude. It doesn't sound like an invitation, and he's not going to ask for one, so Conner stays silent on the elevator ride up to Batman's penthouse and goes to sleep after Superman flies away.

And that's pretty much how it is for the rest of the week.

Until Friday morning. It's the last day Clark will be spending at the Planet, so he has to arrive early to pack everything away. He stops by the penthouse at five in the morning, with coffee and donuts (double chocolate for Conner).

Conner accepts the olive branch without much fanfare. It's pretty scrumptious, he has to admit grudgingly.

In the car Clark finally opens his mouth. "For what it's worth, and I guess it isn't worth much, I really liked you once I got to know you. I wish things had been different."

"Yeah," Conner agrees, careful not to sound too enthusiastic.

"Maybe someday, I can take you to the Fortress," Clark continues. "It's kinda a cool place. There are crystals with information about Krypton… you know, what it was like before it blew up."

"Do you remember it?"

"Faintly."

"Kinda sucks to have your planet blow up, I guess."

Clark doesn't quite laugh. "Yeah. I guess it kinda does. But I guess being a clone made by an evil cabal and not knowing 'The Three Little Pigs' probably sucks too."

"Yeah, well, you get used to it. And now I know the story. I wasn't missing out on much."

_That_ makes Clark laugh.

When they get up to the newsroom, it turns out everyone is waiting for them, even though it's not even six.

Lois and Jimmy have organized a surprise going-away party that interferes with Clark's packing, but for the first time all week, Clark doesn't seem to mind. He even smiles a bit.

Jimmy Olsen's turned into the waterworks, and for the first time, Conner can sort of really respect the kid. Lois keeps swallowing extra loud… it makes Conner think she's trying really hard not to cry. Eventually she just gives up and starts sobbing. And then she throws caution to the wind and wraps herself around Clark.

"Oh, jeeze Smallville. I'm going to miss you and your Midwestern morals and your bad eating habits and your magical ability to disappear _just_ at the wrong moment. You'd better write some _damn_ good stories, you know. But not too good, because I don't want you to get a Pulitzer before I do." And then she starts sobbing again. She's smearing her mascara all over Clark's shirt.

"Whatever you do, stay alive. I'll never forgive you if you die! And don't just eat junk food! But make sure you only drink bottled water, or boil tap water. And if you get into any trouble, call me, and I'll send my dad to help you, ok? He's a jerk, but he likes you."

Clark puts his chin on the top of her head and strokes her black hair slowly.

"I'm just going away for a little while. And then, I'll come back with twenty Pulitzers, and you'll wish I was dead."

Lois laughs through her tears. "You're good Smallville, but you're not that good."

"Yeah," Jimmy butts in, "the most anyone's ever gotten's four."

* * *

Lunch is when it happens.

Lois insists that if Clark is leaving Metropolis, he'll have to have one last authentic Metropolis meal, and there's nothing more authentically Metropolis than the street vendor hotdogs. It's the first time Conner's seen Lois _insist_ that Clark eat junk food. She gets him three hotdogs, a can of Coke, and a side order of cheese fries, with a soft pretzel.

Conner sees it while Clark's busy stuffing his face with hotdog.

Up on the roof of the Planet, there's a gunman, Deathstroke, already taking aim.

It strikes Conner as silly.

Luthor's going after Clark on the last day Clark has a League security detail. It would be so much easier to go after Clark in the Middle East, where any assassination attempt could be blamed on terrorists.

But maybe, Luthor wants for it to happen here, just to prove that he is in fact, the motor that moves Metropolis. And if that's the case, this is his last shot. Literally.

He's never met Deathstroke, but he's read about him. He knows he won't miss. That's good. There's a crowd.

Conner knows Clark can hear the bullet as it whizzes toward him. He knows that Clark can't duck out of the way—it'll hit Lois if he does. It'll ricochet into the crowd if he _doesn't_ duck out of the way.

There's only one thing for Conner to do, and he's glad, so very glad that he didn't let Batman replace him with Artemis or Wally, because neither of them would be able to do what he can do.

Conner's not as fast or as strong as Superman, but he is faster than a speeding bullet. He jumps between Clark and the bullet, hand outstretched to catch it and keep it from bouncing off into someone else. He closes his hand around it with satisfaction. He looks up to see Deathstroke's reaction to having missed Clark, but the assassin is already gone. Conner turns around to tell Clark.

Lois looks white as a ghost.

"It was Deathstroke," he says, pointing with his free hand to where Deathstroke was. "But I caught the bullet," he says proudly. What a stupid thing to be proud about… it's not like he's never caught a bullet before. But it's a small victory over Luthor, so he's happy.

"See?" he asks, as he unfurls his hand.

Except, instead of a bullet, there's a hole straight through his palm.

Suddenly, he stumbles forward, into Clark. Clark stumbles backward, like he can't support Conner's weight, which is stupid, because Clark is Superman, and he can bench press the _Titanic_.

For some reason, his knees give out, and Clark struggles to hold him up.

"Lois!" Clark shouts, "Lois! I need you!"

And then there's Lois, holding him, along with Clark. The two of them are holding him. Holding him up. Strange. It's like his body has turned to lead… or like his legs have turned to rubber.

"The car!" Clark says. "We need to get him to the car!"

They're moving him, taking him somewhere. To the car, probably.

"Why to the car?" Lois asks. "Shouldn't we call an ambulance?"

"And what good would they do?" Clark asks, groans, more like it. "The car's lined with lead. He said the car was lined with lead."

Clark sounds like he's in pain. Conner doesn't understand? Did he mess up? Did Deathstroke somehow get to Clark? But Clark's Superman. Superman's invulnerable. Why does Clark sound like he's in pain?

" 'Severythin' ok?" he asks.

"Yeah, kid," Clark answers, but Conner can tell he's lying. "Everything's fine. Everything's going to be fine."

"You sound like you're hurt," Conner says.

"No. I'm fine."

"Liar. Liar. Pants on fire. Why do you always lie?"

Suddenly, Conner feels like he's being thrown somewhere. On a couch, maybe? Someone presses something soft into him.

"Keep the pressure on, ok, Lois? Try to keep him awake. Keep him talking. I think he's in shock."

There's a loud noise. Something's pressing into his chest. Too hard… it hurts.

"Clark!" Lois screams. "Clark! Clark! Don't, don't you dare leave me!"

Conner knows that's bad news. He tries to get up, but the heavy thing on his chest presses down and he can't get up. It's gotta be something really heavy. Maybe a dwarf star, if it's heavy enough to keep him down.

"Lemme go," he says. "Gotta save Clark."

"You already saved him," Lois tells him.

"You said… said he was leavin'…"

"Yeah… he left."

"Iraq?"

"No, no, just, just over there."

"Someone in trouble?"

"Yeah," Lois says. It sounds like she's crying again. She must be really sad because Clark's leaving.

" 'S OK. Clark's gonna help."

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course Clark's going to help. He's going to help make this all better."

"Course. He's Superman."

Lois sobs even harder. "Con, stay with me, ok?"

"Ok. Not goin' anywhere. Where's Clark?"

"He's gone to help."

"Cuz he's Superman?"

"Yeah, of course. What day is it?"

"Um… I dunno."

"Conner, what's my name?"

"Why're y'askin' me?"

"Who's Batman?"

"Masked vigilante operatin' outta Gotham City, for… for at least eight years. Alias unknown. Appears t'ave no superpowers, operatin' on theatrics and technology. Leader ota Justice League."

"Who's Bruce Wayne?"

"I… dunno…"

"Who's Lex Luthor?"

"Dunno… Please, Dr. Spence… Tired. Wanna back t'pod."

Dr. Spence hits him across the cheek. It doesn't really hurt. Not compared to the pressure on his chest "Stay awake Conner!" she screams at him.

"Whoscnnr?" he asks. But really, he's so tired, he doesn't even care. He just wants to be allowed back into his pod so he can rest.

"Conner, stay with me! STAY WITH ME! GODDAMMIT!" Dr. Spence is shrieking. But he's so tired, so tired… it doesn't really matter… he's just going to close his eyes… it's nice and cold… like his pod… and he's already lying down. Just a nap. A little nap.

"Clark! _Clark!_ Superman! Please, somebody, _anybody_, HELP!"

Just a nap. Dr. Spence can keep shrieking all she wants…

* * *

**A/N: **Yes. I'm stopping now. Because I am evil.

**Edit: **So, it turns out that V and B are next to each other on the keyboard, so when I meant to bold, I accidentally pasted-hence why this chapter was initially repeated. Thanks to the people who pointed it out.


	19. Goodbyes

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 19: Goodbyes  
**

* * *

Conner is flying again.

Or maybe, it would be better to say that he's floating. He can't really steer, but that's fine… there isn't any place to go.

There isn't anything at all.

And yet, the nothingness feels remarkably pleasant. Like he could float in it forever.

But then there's a touch on his hand… he'd know that touch anywhere.

It's M'gann.

Her touch breaks the barrier and the pleasant nothingness breaks like the film of a popped bubble, and with it gone, a torrent of pain rushes over him.

But there's still M'gann.

He opens his eyes and tries to get up, but another hand presses down on his shoulder.

"Don't move."

He groans, but lies back. Everything hurts, so it sounds like a good idea.

M'gann stands up and brushes his hair out of his eyes. "How are you feeling babe?" she asks. Her voice is soft and sad and worried.

"Like I was gutted like a fish," he says and is surprised at the sound of his voice. It's hoarse and weak.

"Babe, do you remember what happened?" she asks. She looks so sad. He wishes she didn't look so sad.

Conner tries to remember. "Lois, she was treating Clark to hot dogs." Conner squeezes his eyes shut. "And then… and then…

"Huh. That's weird."

"What's weird, babe?"

"It was like I was back in Cadmus and Dr. Spence was grilling me. That didn't happen, right?"

"No babe.

"Superman's outside," she tells him after a short while. "So are Martha and Jonathan and Lois, and the team. Doctor Midnite wouldn't let them wait in the room."

"Can they come in now?" he asks.

M'gann nods. "I'll call them in." She doesn't move, but a minute later, Conner hears the door to the door swoosh open and the footsteps of people entering.

It's Clark and Lois and Martha and Jonathan and Wally and Artemis and Kaldur.

Batman and Robin shine by their absence. Conner doesn't say anything about it.

Everyone looks miserable. No one says anything. Conner feels like squirming uncomfortably under the weight of their silence, but everything hurts too much.

So instead, he makes a joke.

"You guys all look like you just went to a funeral. Seriously, who died?"

But no one laughs, and M'gann just starts crying.

It worries him.

"_Did_ someone die?" _Please let this _not_ be the reason Batman and Robin aren't here,_ he finds himself praying.

Clark, dressed like Superman, but standing like Clark, walks up and puts his hand on his other arm. Connor looks down and for the first time, realizes his hand is in a cast.

"No, Conner… nobody's died…" but there's something uncomfortable about the way Clark's voice lingers at the end of that sentence. Like it isn't true, or like there's something else.

"That's good," Conner says because he has no idea what else to say.

"He doesn't remember what happened," M'gann tells them.

Clark takes a deep breath. He sighs. Then he looks at Conner. His eyes are so blue and so clear, one might think he wasn't human (and he isn't) but the intensity of the pain in them… there's nothing more human than that.

"You were shot," Clark explains.

"That explains a lot," Conner says. Lightly. Like it isn't anything.

"You jumped in front of me. Saved my life. It was very brave of you. Thank you." The guilt coming off of Clark is so heavy, Conner can almost feel it.

"It's ok Clark. You don't have to feel guilty about it."

"Conner." Superman bites his lip. He clearly doesn't know what to say.

"The last thing I remember is you eating hot dogs. What happened, between then and now?"

"Deathstroke. You said it was Deathstroke. He shot at me. I heard the bullet, but I couldn't duck out of the way… it would have hurt Lois. You… you jumped in front of me… took the bullet for me.

"It was Luthor. It had to have been Luthor. The bullet—God! It's such an evil weapon… it had a kryptonite shard in it. It was designed to explode shortly after impact… This… Jesus Christ, I don't know what's wrong with Luthor! These things have been outlawed in wartime since 1868!"

Conner tries to take a deep breath. It comes of as a gasp.

"You don't have to feel so guilty, Clark," he tells him.

"Conner…"

"No… I mean it. That bullet was obviously meant for me. Luther doesn't know you're Superman. If he had just wanted to shoot you dead, he wouldn't have wasted the kryptonite. If the point was for the bullet to go through me in case I jumped in front of you, it wouldn't have exploded on impact. In fact, if you were the real target, he would have just waited a week and targeted you after you moved to the Middle East. It'd be easier to hide his involvement that way. And… Deathstroke, now that I think of it, would have aimed for your head. He would have been able to make the shot, but it would have been harder for me to stop it.

"Luther hasn't made a move against you since you published the article. But, he's been targeting me. And, the first thing I did when I met him was jump in front of Wally after Mercy shot at him.

"He assumed I'd do the same for you. And he planned accordingly.

"It's not your fault. There's nothing you could have done. I didn't think it could have been kryptonite… the thought didn't occur to me. But, even if I'd known, it… it wouldn't have made a difference." He smiles weakly, trying to reassure Clark. "Besides, you got me to the Watchtower in time. With kryptonite poisoning. Can't have been easy. How'd you do it?"

Clark pulls Lois to his side. "With Lois," he says, and the two of them, standing side by side look so right. "She helped me get you to your car—thank God Batman had the foresight to line it with lead. I flew the car to Bruce's penthouse and we zetabeamed up here from there."

Conner smiles. "And people think Batman's paranoid. So, you see, Batman's planning, your quick thinking got me to the hospital in time. You saved my life!"

When _everyone_ including Clark starts crying, Conner takes it as bad news.

He's not entirely surprised by what Clark says next.

"No. We didn't."

There's nothing he can say to that. So he just says, "Oh."

"Conner…" Lois speaks up for the first time. "I… I… don't know what—how—to tell you…"

"You're Lois Lane," he says with a smile, because _someone_ in the room _has_ to smile. "Give it to me straight. You don't mince words Ms. Lane."

She sniffles, then nods. The wipes her eyes.

"It was the kryptonite. Most of it was embedded in your liver… Doctor… Doctor Midnite said it was probably unsalvageable from… from… the second the kryptonite shard shattered inside of you… but by the time he was able to get to you… the… the tissue… was… oh fuck it Clark—what was the word he used?"

"Necrotic," Clark says grimly. "His exact words were that the tissue was completely necrotic."

It's a lot to process.

Everyone is silent for five minutes. Apparently, Conner's liver is dead. He licks his lips.

"So… how am I alive right now?"

"We have you on liver dialysis."

The response is automatic: "Detoxification treatment for liver failure; similar to hemodialysis and based on the same principles. Cannot support a patient for an extended period of time."

"No… It can't." Clark confirms.

"So, I'm going to die." It's not a question.

"Yes." Clark closes his eyes. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. "We don't know how long this solution will last. Certainly not a week. Maybe not even a day."

"I see," Conner says quietly. He studies Clark's features. And it's strange, because it's Superman, but it's Clark. Idly, he thinks in wonder about how the only mask Superman wears is his face. It's such a familiar face… but, now that he studies it, he realizes it's not _exactly_ like his own, and he wonders if if he had managed to live for another decade, whether he would have ended up looking _exactly_ like Clark, or whether time and life would have intervened. As it is, time and death _have_. Or will.

There's a question nagging at Conner. But he doesn't dare ask it because he's terrified of what the answer might be.

Martha asks it for him. "I don't understand," she says, her voice betrays the fact that she's been crying for a while. "Can't you just give him a lobe of yours?"

"I really wish I could…" and Clark looks like he looked when he thought Batman was dead. Like there will never be sunshine again. He looks down at his hands, like he doesn't know what to do with them. "I really don't understand. It doesn't make any sense to me. Doctor Midnite says I'm not a compatible donor. He showed me your health file. It has a big note in bold print: 'Nota bene: Superman is **_NOT_** a compatible donor.' I yelled at him. I don't understand. You're my _clone_; we're supposed to be genetically identical. But we're not! It doesn't make any sense. I had him test my blood again… it confirmed what was in the file. I don't understand Conner. I really don't."

Conner licks his lips. "I do."

Clark's eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

"After I… after I spoke with Luthor, I talked to Batman. He said something about why Luthor could never get the cloning process to work… something about your DNA being damaged by the kryptonite Luthor used to get it. Batman said Desmond did something different. He must have… I don't know. Fiddled with the DNA. Made it different somehow."

"Different enough that I can't give you a lobe of my liver."

"It's OK," Conner says. "It's OK. I got to live, and the cost of living… the cost of living is _always_ dying. And that's what makes life worth living, isn't it? Otherwise… well look at people like Vandal Savage and Ra's al Ghul. And you know, if this is where it ends… that's… not exactly _great_, but it's not bad. Not bad at all. Better this than going like Bizarro, right?

"So, don't worry about it. I'm a lucky guy."

"Lucky?" M'gann sobs. "How can you call yourself lucky?"

He turns his head to face her and smiles, as genuine a smile as has ever graced his lips. He squeezes her hand.

"I'm sure Kid Flash agrees with me, right, KF?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course, buddy," Wally answers, trying really hard to keep himself from devolving into a bloody mess of tears.

"Because see, I've got the most beautiful creature in the whole universe by my side, and so I _must_ be the luckiest guy alive. I didn't even have to judge any beauty contests or start any wars to be with you.

"And I have _fantastic_ friends. And I've had _amazing_ adventures. And you know, it's like, what? Luthor tries to clone Superman a gazillion times, and I'm the only one who doesn't fall apart? I'd call that good luck. And then, I get freed by three of the coolest dudes ever? Awesome! And like I said: best girlfriend of _all time_. And I even got to fly… Three year olds die all the time, but how many three year olds get to have a beautiful, smart, loving, kind _shapeshifter_ for a girlfriend? Huh?" He smiles suggestively at M'gann, like this is another one of their games.

And she laughs, which is all he's ever really wanted. And then her peals of laughter turn to sobs, and she takes his hand and starts to bathe it in tears and kisses. "Connor, Connor, Connor, Connor, I love you so much."

"I know, I know… I love you at least as much. Actually, guys, can I get a moment with M'gann?"

Clark nods, and one by one, they turn to leave.

Once they're alone, M'gann completely falls apart.

[I don't want you to go,] she says telepathically, because she can't get the breath for words through her sobs, [I don't want you to leave me.]

Conner swallows. It's hard. It feels like kryptonite had been lodged in his throat rather than his torso. He moves his hand to cup her chin. [I know, I know… but… Oh, M'gann, I did mean what I said. I love you. I adore you. I love you more than anything. I'd cut my own heart out for you, except, you _are_ my heart. And really, at this point, the only regret is that we won't be able to grow old together. To have a family. Oh, and that we never got to join the mile high club _without_ the bioship.]

M'gann can't suppress the laugh that gets out through the sobs.

[But in all honesty, I'd rather have had an hour with you, hell, even a _minute_ with you, over an eternity without you. And I want you to remember, that I love you.] His hand drifts down to her chest, right above where she keeps her heart while in humanoid form. [I'll always be with you, here.]

[I love you so much, I don't know what I'd do without you.]

[Promise me one thing,] he begs.

[Anything my love.]

[Try not to be sad. I can't stand it when you're sad. I'd never forgive myself if I made you sad.]

M'gann doesn't answer. But she gets up and plants a kiss on his forehead, and then another on his lips. He loves the feel of her on him, loves the taste of her against his lips.

[I'm going to be greedy,] he tells her.

[You're never greedy,] she says.

[I… I want to see you…]

She could answer that he is seeing her. But she doesn't. He can feel her tremble, even as she kisses him.

[Please,] he pleads.

[For you, my love.] She stands up and she starts to morph, the green skin and humanoid features dissolving into something that has only the most cursory of similarities to a human.

A fool might think it an ugly form. A monstrous form.

Conner thinks she's lovely.

She's too tall for him to reach her face, but the takes her hand—at least, he thinks that's _probably_ her hand. [Like I said, most beautiful creature in the Universe. How lucky am I?]

[You think I'm beautiful?]

[I think the stars should weep with envy.] He pulls her hand to his lips and kisses it. [Can, can we do that soul-bleeding thing, like we did that night after Luthor?]

And as she pulls him into her, as he bleeds into her soul and has her soul bleed into his, until they're one and the same, Conner can't help but wonder how M'gann could ever have doubted that she was beautiful.

When they're done, he doesn't have to tell M'gann anything else. She knows everything there is to know about him. And she's stopped crying. She doesn't look so sad anymore. She morphs back into the green humanoid girl with red hair, and goes to fetch Kid Flash.

There isn't much to say to Wally. They just chat, about nothing and everything, about old adventures.

"You know," he says finally, "I've recently acquired a new hobby."

"Yeah. Playing matchmaker. I was trying to set Clark with Lois."

"Pretty crazy, isn't it?" Wally asks. "Clark Kent, turns out to be the Man of Steel…"

"I think it's the other way around. Superman turns out to be a mild-mannered reporter. How's Lois handling it?"

"Surprisingly well," Wally says. "She, uh, is alternating between trying to beat him up and hugging him and crying into his chest."

Conner laughs. "That's a good sign. There might be room for my evil master plan to work after all. Can I ask you to keep an eye on them? Nudge them together? They're not very smart."

"No prob. Dick'll be all over it too. We'll be a pair of regular cupids."

"You know who my next project was going to be?" Conner asks.

"Who?"

"You and Artemis. Unfortunately, I seem to have run out of time, so this is my last gambit. I'm pretty sure the way her heart speeds up when she sees you means she likes you. A lot. And, it's kinda hard to tell, because your heart is so fast anyway, but I think you like her too. So like, you should ask her out on a date. To a movie about ninjas."

Wally laughs. "You remember Byalia?"

"Yeah…"

"When we woke up, and didn't remember who we were, she thought her father had put her up to killing me. She came up with a stupid excuse about watching a movie on TV about ninja's where the ninja girl's ninja dad had forced her to kill her ninja boyfriend."

"Maybe Artemis should go into screenwriting; I'd watch that movie."

Wally nods. "I would too, actually."

Conner sighs. "But, but… if things don't work out with Artemis and you're still interested in M'gann—

"Stop. Stop. Stop. Nope. You are not going to give me permission to hook up with your girlfriend after you're dead."

Conner smiles wickedly. "Course I'm not. M'gann can do whatever she wants. She doesn't need my permission. I was _going_ to say, that if you ever hurt her, I will _haunt_ you forever."

"You were totally going to give me permission," Wally says. "And you won't be able to haunt me." He wipes at his eyes. "Dammit Supey," his voice breaks as he uses the old nickname, "I've got something in my eye. But like I was saying, you won't be able to haunt me. You'll be too busy being in heaven."

Conner knows Wally's lying. He knows Wally's an atheist. He doesn't believe in magic, doesn't believe in any deities, doesn't believe in the afterlife. But Conner doesn't say anything. He just smiles.

Artemis comes in next. She's even better at denial than Wally is. But he tells her about Wally. They talk about the movie. She tells him she likes to write, though most of what she writes is apparently fanfiction, and she refuses to tell Conner just what kind of fanfiction she writes, other than apparently it involves something called slash, but he has no idea what that means and she won't explain.

He thanks her for the book about Jor-El. He tells her he got it signed by Lois and Clark. She already knows it's his favorite book.

Kaldur is perfectly stoic. Kaldur is _always_ perfectly stoic. Conner's never seen him shed a tear, not when Ocean Master shattered every bone in his hands, not when he found out his mother had died, not when he broke up with Red Arrow. Conner wonders if maybe Atlanteans don't have tear ducts.

But Kaldur tells him about the honor it's been, fighting together, having him for a friend. About how impressed he is with Conner. How far he's come since they first discovered him in Cadmus. He asks if Conner would like for him to say an Atlantean prayer.

Conner nods and listens to the ancient words.

He asks Lois who's going to write his obituary for the _Planet_. It's a morbid question, but he wants to know the answer.

"I will, if you'd like," she volunteers.

"I'd like that very much," he tells her. "I'm sorry about your voice recorder. Sorry I never got a chance to replace it."

"That's ok."

"I know."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How did you feel when you found out Clark was Superman?"

"Angry."

"That's how I felt too. It's why I ran away the other day."

"But you got over it, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I mean… it wasn't easy. But, but I think, after all this time, I finally understand him, at least a little. He really does love you."

"That's what makes it so terrible."

"What do you mean?"

Lois sighs. "Conner, I know you want me to tell you that now that I know Clark is Superman, the two of us can ride off into the sunset, that we'll have a fairy tale wedding and live happily ever after.

"But I can't lie to you.

"I… I don't know what to do about Clark.

"Two men, for whom I had very strong, very different feelings… I don't know what's real. I don't know what I feel. I don't even know if either of them are real.

"And he wasn't going to tell me. Ever."

"He was afraid," Conner explains.

"He didn't trust me.

"I love him. But I don't know who he is. All I know is that he didn't trust me. And that's going to take me a while to forgive.

"You're an extraordinary kid, Con. Really. I'm not quite as forgiving as you are. I'm actually a very petty person," she confesses.

"No, you're not. I can totally understand where you're coming from. I… I was so angry at Clark for not telling you. I said some pretty nasty things. And I think it was wrong for him not to tell you. But… I can understand, now, I think…"

Martha and Jonathan come in together. Conner has to tell them that the time he spent on the farm was the happiest in his life. They're so kind and so sad. It breaks his heart that he didn't get to know them better.

And then, it's Superman's turn.

"Robin will be here in a little while," he tells him. "Alfred too."

"And Batman?"

Superman shifts uncomfortably. "I'm sure he's coming."

"Of course he's coming," Conner says with the same certainty and conviction that he would use to assert that the sky is blue. "But… don't you know where he is?"

He doesn't ask the question he really wants to know: Why isn't Batman _here_?

"I called him as I was flying the car, right after I called the Watchtower and asked for emergency medical assistance. He said he'd meet us here. He immediately called Robin and M'gann who were out on patrol at Crime Alley and told them to zetabeam to the Watchtower ASAP and arranged to have J'onn pick up my parents and the rest of the team from Smallville.

"Robin was surprised he wasn't already here by the time my parents got here.

"We tried to get in touch with Bruce, but he's not responding to calls and he's turned the GPS off. Alfred reported that Bruce had locked himself in the Batcave, but then, even after Robin went back down to Gotham and hacked past the Cave's security protocols, Bruce wasn't there.

"Robin and Alfred have been looking for him."

"They haven't found him," Conner states.

"No. They haven't. But… look, Bruce and I don't always see eye to eye, but I know he loves you and I know that Bruce _always_ pulls through when it counts. If he's not here yet, it's because of something important, and he _will_ be here soon."

"I know." And Conner does.

There's an awkward silence. Finally, Clark says, "Conner, I promise you something. I'm going to make sure that Lex Luthor pays for what he's done to you. For _everything_ he's done to you." There's a vehemence in Clark's tone that Conner hasn't heard since the red kryptonite incident.

"Actually, I'd rather you promised me something else," Conner says.

"Anything."

"Actually, can I ask you to promise me two things?"

"Of course. If I can do them."

"Don't… don't get yourself, or anyone else, hurt going after Luthor. I know you hate him. I know he's a slippery son of a bitch. But it isn't worth it."

"I'll be careful. I promise. What's the other thing?"

"Don't kill Luthor."

"You can't possibly be worried about Luthor, not after he's gone ahead and _killed_ you?"

Conner shrugs. It makes it hurt worse. "Luthor is still a human being. He needs to be brought to justice, by the courts, by the law. But really, I'm more worried about you. Because I know you're not a murderer, and I don't want you to become one, especially not because of someone so ugly and petty as Luthor."

"I wish I hadn't been such a fucking imbecile."

"What's done is done. Like you said—no one could reasonably have expected you to… you know… whatever. I'm glad I got to know you, the real you, at least for a little while."

"Me too. You know, I think in all his life, Lex Luthor's only done two good things. One is hiring Desmond to make you, and the other is threaten my life so I could get to know you.

"And… there's another thing."

"Another thing Luthor did that was good?"

"No… I think that's an exhaustive list. No. Another thing that I've been thinking about."

"What?"

"I… I know you didn't really want to be Superboy anymore."

"Oh, yeah, that…"

"But… I meant it, when I said I'd like to take you to the Fortress to show you the crystals, and I'm really sorry I won't be able to do that now."

"It's ok."

"No, it's not, but… I know it's not a lot… I've never really given you anything. If you wouldn't mind, at the very least… I'd like to give you a Kryptonian name."

"I'd be honored," Conner says.

"My father's grandfather, my great-grandfather, was called Kon-El. He was a professor of philosophy at the University of Kandor and when Brainiac shrank the city, it was largely through his efforts that the majority of the population was able to escape, and everytime Lois calls you 'Con,' I can't help but think of him."

"I like it," Conner says with a smile. "Better to be named after an awesome hero than a guy in a cheesy eighties sitcom."

Clark laughs. "Anyone ever tell you, you're a great kid?"

"Yeah. Lotsa times."

They're talking about Krypton and about Lara when Robin knocks on the door.

Clark goes to open the door.

"Anyway ucklay indingfay imhay?" Clark asks, and Conner is surprised to find he doesn't understand.

"Otnay yetway. Agentway Away issedpay asway ellhay. Utbay ethay ingthay isway ehay idn'tday aketay ethay owerpay uitsay. Iway avehay onay ideaway owhay e'shay anagingmay otay etgay aroundway." Robin steps past Clark.

"Hey Conner, how're you feeling buddy?"

"Been better, but watcha gonna do?"

"Heard you're totally traught. It's really impressive. Wally says you've given us a super awesome super secret mission."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I'll leave you two alone," Clark says softly, and closes the door behind him.

"Alfred's checking with Midnite—he made you cake, and he's trying to figure out whether you're allowed to eat it." Robin's smiling, a deep conspiratorial smirk. "It's the same cake he made for your birthday party." He steps closer. "_But_ I know what you'll _really_ want," and he pulls a ziplock bag out of his utility belt.

There is a cookie inside.

To be precise, a burnt, misshapen cookie. Probably from M'gann's latest batch.

"You should probably only have a bite, at least until after Midnite gives the all-clear, but I thought this was maybe a case of it being better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

It's maybe the most thoughtful thing Robin's ever done for him.

The Boy wonder takes the cookie out of the baggie and puts it in Conner's hand.

Conner brings it up to his face. He looks at it. Smells it. It's definitely M'gann's.

He's never going to eat another one of M'gann's godawful cookies.

That's the realization that brings the dam down. He can't take it any more: he breaks down crying. Because he's never going to eat M'gann's godawful cookies, never going to get to take her to the prom, never going to be able to make love to her in the stratosphere, never going to get to marry her. He's never going to go to Clark and Lois's wedding, never going to get to go to the Fortress of Solitude, never going to eat another slice of Martha Kent's apple pie, never going to get to help Jonathan Kent with the chores around the farm again, never going to get to race with Wally again.

He's going to die.

And it's not fair.

And he's afraid.

He doesn't want to die.

Doesn't want to leave M'gann.

"Ohgodohgodohgod!" Robin lets out, clearly panicking. "No—Conner, don't cry… if you cry, I'll cry… Conner! Don't cry! I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I don't want to die, Robin," he says. "I really don't want to die. There's lots of things I want to do. I don't want to die."

Robin sniffles. Conner can't see it because of the mask, but he thinks Robin might be crying too.

"I know Conner," he says as his voice breaks. "I know. And none of us want you to die either."

"I'm scared," he confesses. "I don't think I've ever been more scared."

"I'm not going to tell you that it's going to be ok, because, it's _not_ going to be OK—because the world will never be OK without you in it, man, just like the world isn't OK without my parents, like it isn't OK without Bruce's, but you know, there's plenty of good people up there. You'll get to meet my mom. She was such a pretty lady. Wanna see?"

"Yeah," Conner says.

Robin pulls up a picture of her on his wrist computer. And she is very pretty. Was very pretty. Soon they'll have to talk about him in the past tense.

And it isn't fair, but that's the way it is.

"Do… do you want me to get M'gann?" Robin asks.

"No. I don't want her to see me like this. Let me… let me get traught."

"You know, you don't have to be traught. You're allowed to be _dis_ traught. In fact, you're allowed to be _very_ distraught."

"I don't want M'gann to be sad. At all. I'm going to have to settle for not making her _more_ sad."

It takes five minutes of silence for Conner to be able to pull himself together. He wipes his eyes dry with his free hand, and then takes a bite out of the cookie and wonders how he could ever have thought anything bad about M'gann's baked goods.

He and Robin talk until they run out of things to say.

hen, Conner finds, there's not much more to say. He asks Robin to call everyone in. Doctor Midnite won't let him eat the cake, which is too bad. But he insists that everyone else have some. Cake, all his best friends… it a slightly early birthday party. Heck, it's not even that early.

Some of the other mentors stop bye. They don't really know him very well, but that's OK. Red Tornado is phenomenally awkward about the situation, which makes Conner laugh. Captain Marvel stops by as Billy. J'onn stays for M'gann. Dinah arrives, late, frazzled… she'd been two thousand miles away from a zetabeam teleporter when she got the news.

Wonder Woman calls Clark, Billy, and J'onn out. When they come back and tell Conner they're inducting him into the Justice League. There's an impromptu ceremony: Wonder Woman swears him in.

Then the commotion dies down again. And the remaining hours go bye in silence.

M'gann holds his hand the whole time.

Conner begins to feel himself slip. It's getting late.

It doesn't look like Batman's going to make it.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes. I'm stopping now. Because I am evil.

I'll be honest. I cried when I wrote this chapter. In my defense, I was very tired at the time.

Original note re: Luthor: "He's perpetually tortured a young boy, for whose creation he is entirely responsible, who has done nothing to hurt him, pretty much just for the evulz. I think he just thinks this whole thing is hilarious. "Try to put me in prison Mr. Kent? I'll just make you watch as this boy you clearly care about die a painful and pointless death and make you feel super guilty about it because it should have been you. My only regret is that it won't piss off Superman. Oh well. I'd already written off the $500 million anyway." If he only knew that he actually had succeeded in hurting Superman... well Lex's life might be complete, then and there."


	20. Death of the Endless

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 20: Death of the Endless  
**

* * *

Conner knows he's being selfish.

The only reason he's still alive is because M'gann won't let him go. The only reason he's not in excruciating pain is because M'gann is blocking every single physical feeling. It's an extraordinary burden on M'gann. J'onn is glaring daggers, but he doesn't say anything.

Conner knows that if he were a better person, he would tell M'gann to let him go. He'd tell her about the cheery lady dressed all in black that only he can see and that he's not afraid.

But he is afraid.

Not of the lady… though he knows who she is and why she's here. She's nice, warm, comforting. Patient.

Before today, Conner's never given too much thought to Death, but he'd never in a million years thought she would be this pleasant. He wonders if this is what she looked like when she came for Batman's parents, and Robin's.

"I was wearing different clothes," she tells him.

"Do you think it would hurt less," Conner asks her, "if they knew you were this nice?"

"Conner?" M'gann asks.

Death shakes her head and sits on his bed. "No."

"Conner, who are you talking to?"

"You're being very patient."

"Conner? Conner!"

"You're being very brave."

"No. I'm not."

"Modest too," Death says with a wink.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Actually, I think you're flirting with me. Not as badly or as often as your friend Bruce does, though."

"He's not coming, is he?" Conner asks.

"He's doing the best he can," Death reassures him.

"But... for once, for this once, his best isn't going to be good enough, is it?"

"Only my older brother knows that."

Conner closes his eyes. He's very tired.

"Your older brother," he repeats. He doesn't know how, but he knows who her older brother is. And her younger brothers and sisters too. None of that is Cadmus programming. "He's cruel."

"Crueler than you know. But kinder too. He is what he is. Like I am what I am. That's all we can ever be, ourselves. And you, KR, Superboy, Conner Jones, Kal-El, you have done a _marvelous_ job of being yourself."

"Conner!" M'gann screams again, and this time, he can feel her, all of her, pulling at him, dragging him away from the perky goth, and putting herself between them. "_You!_" M'gann snarls. "You can't have him."

"I'm afraid, M'gann," Death says, "that decision is out of our hands. Out of mine as well."

"No! No! I won't let you!"

"You have no choice. But if you'll insist in standing between him and me, I can take you too."

"M'gann, _no_," Conner whispers with finality. He gets up from his body and wraps his arms around M'gann's waist. "It's ok babe," he whispers in her ear. Stay, I'll go. Look at her, she's nice. I'm not afraid."

"Where are you taking him?" M'gann asks.

"That, I do not know and cannot tell you. But I don't think it'd be any place bad."

"Will I see him again?" M'gann sobs.

And Death just smiles and wraps her arms around M'gann, so that she's being held tightly by the two of them. "Oh, sweet, sweet M'gann, of course you'll see him again. In this world, the next, or in another. I promise you on my brother's grave. Daniel will see to that."

"Conner, I love you."

"I love you too, M'gann."

And then he lets go of her and M'gann lets go of him, and it's just him and Death, and behind him, his body and a room full of everyone that ever mattered to him, except the man that mattered most.

His heart stops beating. The line goes flat. M'gann wails. Mid-Nite gets up and pulls a white sheet over Conner's face.

Conner shuts his eyes, swallows, takes a deep breath, and nods. "Ok," he tells her, "Let's go."

Death offers him her hand. He reaches out to take it.

His hand is an inch away from hers, when the loudspeakers blare: "Recognized, Batman B-02—

—Conner pulls his hand back. "He came!"

"Too late," Death tells him.—

—"Get him back!" Superman shouts.

Mid-Nite reaches for the defibrillator paddles.

M'gann delves back in, J'onn is almost too late to reach after her and serve as tether—

"—Lex Luthor A-05."

* * *

Watching his life hang in the balance like this is the most surreal experience of what Conner has to admit has been up until now a very surreal life. Mid-Nite yells, "Clear!" and presses the electrified paddles to Conner's chest. Conner sees his body jolt at the shock. His heart doesn't start up again. Mid-Nite does it again. Then, again. Third time's the charm, and finally, the machine starts beeping rhythmically, letting Conner and everyone else in that room know that Conner's body, if nothing else, is still alive.

But Conner doesn't feel any of it. He doesn't feel his heart stop or start. Death doesn't go away. He can't open his eyes.

"Please," Conner begs. "He's here. I… I just want to say goodbye to him."

Death ruffles his hair. "Sorry Con, it's all out of my hands. But I do hope you get to talk to him."

He turns around to face Death. "Is this what it was like for him? I mean… when we thought he was gone? Where you there with him?"

She shakes his head. "No. He was in the Dreaming."

"What was he dreaming about?" Conner asks.

Death shrugs. "You'd have to ask Daniel. Bruce won't tell you. But look, he's here!"

And he is. Batman strides in—no chair, no exosuit, just Batman in his cape and cowl. Clark is up in his face in a flash. "You're late," Clark snarl's in Batman's face. "How _dare_ you?"

"I was busy," Batman answers plainly.

"Busy?" Clark barks out, "What the hell do you mean you were busy? He was _dying_. He _did_ die. He was dying for hours, and all he wanted was to see you."

Batman grabs Clark by the cape and smashes him against the wall. "I was busy saving his life, _idiot_." Then he turns to Mid-Nite. "Get him into surgery, _now_."

"What?" Mid-Nite asks.

"I have a liver—a compatible liver—and you have a transfer to perform."

The doctor snaps to attention, and then, he's calling for help. Batman doesn't miss a beat: together, he and Mid-Nite start to roll the bed Conner's in to the OR.

"This is getting interesting," Death observes.

Conner's not sure he agrees. He finds himself running after his body. It's getting weird, or weirder, and more convoluted.

Clark is running behind them too, eyes wide and confused, and Conner wonders if that's what he looks like right now.

"What the hell do you mean you have a liver?" Clark asks. "Did you get Luthor to clone him a new liver?"

"Luthor _is_ the liver," Conner thinks he hears Batman snarl.

"That's funny," he tells Death. "I thought he just said—

He sees the look on Deaths' face and shuts up.

"What?" Clark asks, stopped dead in his tracks, but Batman doesn't pause to answer. Mid-Nite looks up, face puzzled, but when Batman doesn't even acknowledge Clark's question, Mid-Nite just turns back to monitor Conner's vitals.

"I don't… it doesn't make any sense," Conner says, or pleads. "What's going on? What does it mean?"

Death looks at her watch. "I think it means I might have to take a rain check on this one."

"But… how? Why?"

"You know, normally people are happy when I tell them I'll come back later."

"I… just don't understand."

They push Conner through the doors of the OR. Luthor is waiting there. Maybe it's the fact that he's not wearing a suit or even the orange prison outfits, just a little blue hospital gown, or maybe it's the ugly black bruise around his eye, or the bruises around his throat, or the look of bewildered terror, or maybe it's the fact that Conner's already at death's door, so there's not much more Luthor can do to hurt him, but Luthor looks different. Less imposing, not as threatening.

"What the _fuck_ is this _bastard_ doing here?" Clark asks with a virulence Conner's never heard before.

Luthor doesn't even wince. "I'm here to save the boy's life."

"This is…highly irregular," Mid-Nite says as soon as he's made sure that Conner's stable. "Normally, for this… kind of procedure, there are tests you're supposed to run."

"There isn't time," Luthor answers. "The compatibility checks—Batman showed me the test results, everything checks. And I have to have a complete checkup every year to reassure the markets… I'm in perfect health." Luthor make an awkward sound, something like a strangled chuckle. "Well… If you don't count the bruises."

Mid-Nite shakes his head. "I'm supposed to take your word that everything is fine?"

Batman pulls up a series of documents off of his wrist computer and shows them to Mid-Nite. "There. Proof. Now do what you have to do."

Mid-Nite shakes his head. Conner's mind has sort of shut off by now; he can't process the fact that apparently, Lex Luthor could save his life, or that Mid-Nite is reluctant to do it.

"I swore an oath," Mid-Nite says. "_Do no harm._ I can't just rush into this head first. I have to do… prepare… a psych eval at least."

Batman laughs, an ugly laugh. Conner can only think how, recently, Batman laughing is never a good thing. " 'Do no harm?' Luthor's a piece of scum. The best possible thing that could happen is for you to harm him. But if you won't operate on him because you're afraid of violating the Hippocratic Oath, I can take care of that problem, right now."

It takes Conner a second to process what's happening, because it's so utterly ridiculous and impossible.

In a flash of motion, Batman's got Luthor's back against him, and the blade of a batarang is pressed tightly against the man's throat. A trickle of blood stains the orange jumpsuit.

"Batman doesn't kill," Conner states, matter-of-factly.

"He hasn't ever," Death says, but he's not sure if that means she's agreeing with him.

"Batman, have you gone insane?" Clark asks.

"No. I have Luthor here. All Doctor Mid-Nite has to do is perform a relatively safe operation and Superboy will be fine. But, I'll be damned if I let Superboy die just because Mid-Nite is afraid. Luthor tried to have the boy killed, one of _my_ kids. As far as I'm concerned, if Luthor's six feet under by the end of this, that's icing on the cake."

"You're not thinking clearly," Clark tells Batman.

"No, he isn't," Luthor agrees. "So, why don't we all calm down before Batman decides slit my throat? Hmm? I assure you, Doctor Mid-Nite, that I am here of my own volition. I am in excellent health. I am a match. I will sign any and every release form you want. There is absolutely no reason for you to refuse to perform a transplant that will save the boy's life. I'm an adult, the CEO and founder of one of the most important and successful technology firms on the planet, and a twelfth level intellect to boot, certainly I can weigh the risks, and I am ready, willing and able to assume them. So be a good doctor, and do your job."

"Why are you doing this?" Mid-Nite asks. "Are you being coerced?"

"Do you not see the gun pointed at my head? Batman has made it quite clear that if the boy dies, he is going to make sure I go with him. Of course I'm being coerced. But that's not why I'm doing it."

"Why then?" Superman asks.

"I know you wouldn't believe me if I told you that I've just found out I have a son, and I find that I don't want him to die, especially not because of me." Luthor laughs. "I'm getting one hell of a deal, Alien. Every charge dropped, and full immunity for all of them. Nice little carrot to go along with the stick. Especially for something that's just going to grow back.

"So, let's get this over and save the boy before it's too late, eh?"

Finally Mid-Nite nods. Batman puts the gun down.

"I don't understand," Conner says.

"You keep saying that kid," Death says, putting a hand on his shoulder, "but I'm pretty sure you do understand." Then she claps her hands and grabs him for a hug. "There's a substantial chance you're going to get to eat your girlfriend's cookies again! And that thing you wanted to do with her in the stratosphere."

Mid-Nite ushers Batman and Clark out of the room, and turns his attention to Luthor.

* * *

"He's cutting Luthor," Conner points out.

"Well, you didn't think the liver would just materialize inside of you, did you?" Death asks.

"But, doesn't it hurt?"

Death shrugs. "He's under anesthesia. I imagine it'll hurt when he wakes up. If he wakes up."

Conner turns to look at her. "You mean… he might not?"

She shrugs. "Mid-Nite's a good doctor, but anytime anyone cuts someone open and fiddles with their innards, there are risks."

"You mean Luthor could die?"

"Well, he's going to die. It's just a question of when."

"But… how?"

"Do you really want me to explain kid? I'm sort of an expert in the field."

"No, I mean, _why_?"

"Oh. The whys and wherefores… I don't know. Human emotion is something I'm less of an expert in. Sorry. The twins might know, but I would avoid them, if I were you."

Midnight cuts Luthor's liver in half and takes out the smaller lobe. Then he sets to work on Conner's sleeping form, tearing up the fresh stitches and opening up the barely healing incision.

* * *

**A/N: **So, did the title freak you out? Or was it reassuring?


	21. Origins

**Rating: **T

**Where else can I find this story?** All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

**Warning: Adult language in this one.**

**Hero**

**Masks, Part V**

**Chapter 21: Origins  
**

* * *

The pretty lady, Death, is nowhere to be seen, and for an instant, Conner wonders if he imagined the whole thing, but then he sees that he's in a hospital room, M'gann is slumped in her chair, passed out, but even asleep her hand is holding tightly on to his, and he can feel her mind wrapped around his, no weaker or less loving than the tight grasp of her hand.

He groans. All the world is pain.

"How're you feeling, Con?" Lois's voice asks, quiet and kind and concerned.

"I thought I was dying," he tells her.

"You did. For a little while," she answers.

"Oh. So, I didn't dream it then," he mutters. "How's Luthor?"

"He isn't going to hurt you," she answers. "You're safe now."

"No, I mean… the operation."

Lois looks startled. Afraid. Then she regains her composure. "I'm going to go get Doctor Mid-Nite, ok?" She gets up and puts a hand on M'gann's shoulder. "He's awake honey," she whispers in her ear.

M'gann's eyes flutter open. "Hey babe," he smiles at her.

"Oh, Conner! You're awake!" She takes his hand and kisses it. "Don't ever scare me like that again!"

"I'll try not to." Then, he thinks about Luthor again, and what Death had said, and the question is on the tip of his tongue, but M'gann spears it with a kiss, and she tastes so sweet and good, he forgets about Death and Luthor. And then Mid-Nite comes and reads his vitals and tells him he's going to be absolutely fine as long as he takes it easy. Right off the bat, Mid-Nite tells him, no superheroing for at least six months.

That's going to make it impossible for him to fill in for Batman.

Which reminds him, "Where's Batman?"

"He'll be along, shortly."

But it takes Batman a long time to come. Everyone else piles in, and he's so happy to see them again, even though, for him, it's as if though he'd seen them all five minutes ago. Wally can hardly contain his joy, and even Roy shows up with a quiet smile of relief that doesn't quite fit on his face. And after a half hour, he's exhausted, and Batman still hasn't come. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands and gives a massive yawn, which is signal enough for Mid-Nite to demand that everyone leave. Everyone, including M'gann.

He's so glad the rooms in the Watchtower aren't lined with lead. He waits for everyone to disperse, and then he fiddles with the machines—he's not as good a hacker as Robin, but he knows enough—so no one will know he's gone. Even with his superpowers, walking is something of a chore. It's a good thing he has an IV drip—he holds on to the metal bar for support.

But if Batman's the one he's looking for, Luthor is the one he finds first. Luthor's yelling his throat out. It's a voice that has haunted his nightmares for years. He'd recognize anywhere, even hoarse from yelling and muffled by sound-proof walls. "You motherfucking heartless cocksucking son of a bitch bastard—agh!—this wasn't, wasn't part of the deal!" The sound is faint, but detectable, if only just barely, which means he must be close. He turns a corner and finds himself outside the door. It's locked, but Conner's heat vision cuts through the lock like a hot knife through butter. Luthor's screams drown out the sound of Conner turning the doorknob and opening the door.

And that's when he finds Batman, standing tall and dark and grim over Luthor's writhing body, gloved hand on a dial on a machine hooked up to Luthor.

"I don't recall ever telling you I would give you morphine," Batman answers in the low, grim voice he usually reserves for interrogations on the balconies of skyscrapers.

"If you're going to kill me, just fucking do it already and put me out of my misery," Luthor begs.

"Batman?" Conner asks, because he doesn't quite understand, can't quite believe what's going on.

Both men turn to see him. Luthor interrupts his screaming just long enough to hurl a bed pan at Conner's head. "Get the boy out of here! I don't want him to see me like this!" The bed pan misses and clangs dully against the wall behind him.

"I don't really give a fuck what you want," Batman tells Luthor, but he turns to Conner anyway, and then, it's like Batman is a different man entirely. His face softens. "You shouldn't be here, Superboy," he says kindly, like there isn't another man writhing in agony in the room. "You should be resting. Let's get you to bed."

Batman takes the IV caddy from Conner's hand and gets under his arm to replace the support. Conner's very tired. So, very tired; it would be the easiest thing in the world to let Batman take him back to the room, to let Batman put him to bed. Luthor's not even screaming any more. But Conner can still hear the bald man's jagged breaths. Even though he's making a tremendous effort to hide it, Luthor's in an inhuman amount of pain.

Conner shakes his head, breaks free of Batman's support, and walks to the machine.

"Superboy," Batman warns, "that's the man who tried to kill you."

"I know." But he turns the dial anyway. Cadmus programming tells him when to stop.

The reaction in Luthor is almost instantaneous. Once he's calmed down enough, he casts a look at the dial, and when he sees the dosage is correct, that Superboy doesn't intend to murder him with an overdose of morphine, he thanks Superboy.

"Go to hell."

"I deserve that," Luthor says shamelessly.

"Yes, you do deserve to go to hell."

Then he walks back to Batman and lets Batman guide him out of the room. Just as they're over the threshold, Luthor calls out after Batman.

"What?" Batman growls.

"When you get a chance, could you do me a favor? Tell Bruce Wayne that I hope he gets better soon. And that he should be very careful with what medicines he takes. Some drugs don't play nice with Smilex."

Conner feels Batman tense, but then Batman regains his composure.

They bump into Mid-Nite running in the hallway—

"What's wrong with Luthor?" Mid-Nite asks.

"Mainly that he's still breathing," Batman answers coldly.

"And why the hell is Superboy out of bed?"

"That's a very good question," Batman answers. "I'll ask him when he's back in bed."

Batman takes him back to the room. Hooks him up to the machines. He even tucks him into bed.

"You're safe now, Conner," Batman says, holding his hand.

"Luthor—

"Isn't going to hurt you anymore."

"No. That's not what I was going to say. Luthor—his liver—I don't understand."

"You heard that conversation," Batman frowns. "I had hoped you wouldn't."

"Luthor was a compatible donor."

Batman nods.

"How is that possible?" Batman doesn't answer. "Unless… I'm not really… I'm not really Superman's clone, am I?"

"Not entirely," Batman admits. "Cloning Superman, successfully, making another person with Superman's exact genetic code, is impossible. I told you before. Cloning is complicated enough. But with a Kryptonian, there were insurmountable biological obstacles. The only way to extract Superman's DNA is to use kryptonite, but the kryptonite damages the DNA, of course. And there's an added complication that there are no Kryptonian eggs. It's why none of the Superman clones LexCorp produced worked. Why they all fell apart eventually."

"So… What am I?"

"A human-kryptonian hybrid. That was the work Desmond did. He mixed and matched DNA from different creatures to create chimeras—genomorphs—with the properties desired. He took what was available of Superman's DNA and filled the gaps with human DNA. He played with the arrangement until the sequence was stable enough to be able to reproduce itself without major errors, and human enough that it could be implanted in a human egg."

"So, I'm a Frankenstein's monster?"

"No. Of course not, Conner. Despite Cadmus's best efforts, you're not a monster, Frankenstein or otherwise. You're just, you. A wonderful, brave, selfless young man, and I wouldn't have you any other way."

"And Luthor? Where does he come in?"

"He's the other…" Batman pauses to search for the word, "Source. Desmond used his DNA to fill the gaps in Superman's DNA."

"How much comes from Superman, how much from Luthor?" Conner asks.

"Does it matter?"

"I want to know."

Batman sighs. "Fifty-fifty, thereabouts."

"Did Superman know?"

Batman shakes his head. "He would probably have figured it out, eventually."

"Why?"

"Because you're different enough that he'd notice it. You get hungry. You need to eat. You need to sleep. To breathe. You get cold. If you don't watch what you eat, you can get fat, or too skinny. Not Superman. Red sunlight depowers you faster, but kryptonite hurts you slightly less."

"That's why he only eats junkfood."

"Food is like music and art to Clark," Batman confirms. "Completely devoid of utility, but enjoyable. I don't listen to Kiss, and he doesn't eat spinach."

"Why Luthor?" The older man doesn't answer. Conner asks again.

"Do you really want to know?"

Conner nods. "More than anything."

"Sometimes… sometimes it's better not to know."

"I want to know. Need to know."

Batman nods, takes off one of his gauntlets and turns on the wrist computer lodged inside. He pulls up a folder called "SB" and hands it over to Conner. There are documents upon documents in the folder. Conner's stomach sinks deeper and deeper as he browses through what he's realizing are Desmond's notes:

_Irreparable damage to Target DNA sample (kryptonite?), coupled with difficulties in obtaining suitable oocyte, explain total failure of all previous cloning attempts. Without intact DNA sample, successful cloning **impossible**. Lack of kryptonian oocyte makes successful cloning exceedingly difficult, even if intact DNA sample could be obtained from Target (red sunlight?). _

_Best approach = Human-Kryptonian Chimera_

_Methodology previously established with genomorph program. Creation of Weapon expected to be much simpler than creation of a new genomorph species, as most of the work is sequencing and gap-filling. Question remains: where to get human source DNA?_

Conner finds that he wants to vomit, but he keeps looking, keeps reading, and eventually, he finds what he's looking for: a TIFF of a scanned note card with Desmond's messy scrawl:

_46 yrs – 188 cm – 91 kg – 230 IQ_

_• Excellent physical condition, despite age. Reasonably attractive, no distinctive features other than obvious—easy enough to mask under target phenotype. _

_• No known genetic antecedents. Alopecia totalis only readily apparent flaw, but does not appear to be genetic in origin._

_• 230 IQ of utmost interest: Weapon will require an elevated intelligence if it is to retain any meaningful measure of sentience after indoctrination process. Repeated exposure to Genomorph control has been observed to occasion up to a 50 pt decline in IQ (Guardian). With requisite programming, the drop may be closer, or perhaps over, 100 pts. 130 end IQ will roughly correlate to Target (estimated IQ 130-150)._

"As far as Desmond knew, Luthor was one of only a handful of viable choices," Batman says finally, handing Conner a handkerchief pulled out of his utility belt. "Luthor didn't know. Desmond thought, probably correctly, that Luthor would say no. Desmond didn't even tell Luthor that what Luthor was buying wasn't a full-out Kryptonian. Luthor's DNA was pilfered—Desmond arranged for there to be an extra vial of blood drawn at Luthor's yearly physical. Luthor didn't even notice because he's afraid of needles and wasn't looking.

"It's why it took me so long to get here. He wouldn't believe me at first. I had to convince him. That took longer than arranging the plea bargain."

Conner doesn't answer. He lets it all sink in, and even after, once he's understood it all, he still doesn't speak, because he knows his voice will crack. He blows his nose a couple of times, takes a deep breath, and finally, "If Luthor didn't know… does that mean, you didn't get this off of the iPad?"

He can see Batman think about his answer. He can see Batman consider lying. But then he shakes his head. "No. It's not from the iPad. It's from Desmond's home office, where he kept all the notes he didn't want Luthor to see."

"You didn't look this all up when you heard I'd been shot." Conner states plainly.

"No. I didn't."

"So. You knew."

"Yes."

"When? When did you find out?"

Batman sighs. "After your first encounter with Luthor. You were so badly injured when I found you—but after, after the red kryptonite fight, the damage was worse. It occurred to me that, in the future, something, something like this could happen, and that you or Superman might need a transfusion or a transplant. And, and that might have been the end of it, but as you know, I'm famously paranoid. I decided to check and make sure that you and Superman could really be compatible matches for one another. At the time, Alfred made fun of me. But, when I realized that you weren't—Superman's cells are stronger than yours, his immune system would end up killing you—I dug deeper, and when I found Desmond's files, I, out of what I suppose could be called, an abundance of caution, tested you against Luthor."

"And you never told me."

"I didn't want to burden you. Luthor had hurt you so badly. Maybe I should have told you. But I wanted to protect you."

* * *

There's been an earthquake in San Francisco, so the Watchtower is running with a skeleton crew. Even Lois is back planetside covering the disaster. Conner takes the opportunity to leave his room unnoticed once again and goes to find Luthor.

He can't help but notice that the bastard's been moved to a room with energy bars rather than a door. And there's a panic button by Luthor's side. Conner uses his new League ID to turn the energy bars off for just long enough for him and his IV drip to go inside.

Luthor's lying down, eyes closed. Conner can hear his heartbeat and the in-out of his breathing. Luthor's asleep. He doesn't wake up as Conner walks towards him, stepping slowly and lightly.

For a second, Conner thinks about ripping the pillow out from under Luthor's bald head and smothering the bastard.

Then he folds the thought up and puts it away.

"Luthor, wake up," he says.

The man doesn't stir.

"Wake up," he orders, more insistently, but still, Luthor doesn't move. They probably have him on heavy sedatives, if not for the pain, then so he won't up and leave. Conner wonders if Luthor know's he's on an orbiting satellite.

Conner doesn't really want to _touch_ Luthor. But he already has half of Luthor's liver inside of him… half of Luthor's _DNA_ inside of him.

"Wake up!" he says for a third time, prodding the sleeping man.

That, finally, is enough to get a groan out of Luthor.

He opens one eye.

"So, I take it, from the fact that you're here, and that I sort of feel like I've been cut in half and swimming out of my body, that this wasn't all a bad dream."

"Nope… it was all real," Conner says grimly. "Getting shot, thinking I was going to die… that was all real."

"Then… you really are my son," Luthor says.

"No."

"Well, apparently, half your DNA comes from me… So, either, you're my son, or I'm not very good at science. And I'm plenty good at science."

"I am not your son. You are not my father. You are not even a sperm donor. You are literally, _less than nothing_ to me."

Luthor chuckles. "Well, at the very least, I'm your organ donor. You'd be dead without my liver."

"You don't get bonus points for saving me when you tried to have me murdered. Especially since Batman already told me that they're dropping all charges against you."

He sighs. "I _suppose_ that's fair. Not that I've ever been a fan of fairness. Though, if we're being fair, I should point out that the fact that the charges against me are being dropped benefits the League far more than it benefits me. And _Batman_. No one gets more out of this than _Batman_ who gets to continue violating the Fourth and Fifth Amendments with impunity… at least until he decides to bother me again.

"He threatened to kill me you know. I'll never forget his exact words: 'You're being offered a deal because I thought it prudent to extend a professional courtesy to the DA. But I don't need your consent. I don't even need your corpse. All I need is your liver—and I've got one of Freeze's cryo-guns right here with me.' I've had people threaten to kill me before, but hacking me into pieces? That's a new one.

"The man's a psychopath, like all the other trash that crawls out of Gotham." Conner's about to tell Luthor off, but then a dangerous light enters the man's green eyes, and even if he's lying on his back in a hospital gown with his belly stitched up, Conner is still terrified of Luthor. Still has nightmares about the man. So Conner shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw, and takes an involuntary step backward.

"Damn Desmond. Damn him to hell," Luthor says, green eyes full of poisonous rage. "If he hadn't transformed himself into a mindless brute, I'd have him killed. He should have _told_ me. If I had only _known_…" He sighs again. "You have to believe me. If I had known… I wouldn't have…" Luthor lets the word drift into nothing and licks his lips.

"You wouldn't have tortured me?" Conner provides.

"Yes. That. I wouldn't have done that," Luther concedes.

"No. I don't imagine you would have. But you would still have been the same monstrous bastard who _would_ do those things. You just would have done a better job of hiding it, and me, like a fool, I might have bought your act. So I'm _glad_ you didn't know."

Luthor doesn't say anything. His heart doesn't speed up. His breathing doesn't change.

Conner bites his lip and exhales. "But, I wanted to thank you."

"For the liver?"

"No. The first time we met? When you tortured me, and then put red kryptonite in me so that Superman and I might kill each other? That was the first time I realized that it didn't matter that I was Superman's clone. And you know what? If it didn't matter that I was Superman's clone, it sure as hell doesn't matter that I have half your DNA. It doesn't matter one whit. You're a monster, and I want nothing to do with you. As soon as we figure out how to clone me a new liver, I'm taking yours _out_."

"That's not a bad idea. That way you won't have to take the immunosuppressants your whole life. I can arrange to have the organ cloned. I still have access to all of Cadmus's technology."

Conner ignores the offer. He won't give Luthor an inch.

"But here's another thing I want to thank you for: because if you hadn't threatened Mr. Kent, I never would have gotten to know the staff at the _Daily Planet_ and if I hadn't met them, I probably would never have gotten to know their pal Superman—and while he may have some problems, he's actually a pretty OK guy when you get to know him. And if you hadn't _shot_ at me with an exploding kryptonite bullet, I probably wouldn't ever have had the deathbed heart-to-heart with him. _Thanks to you_ Superman and I are _friends_ now. And that's so much more than _you_ can ever hope for."

Finally, that seems to get a rise out of Luthor. But then he does the opposite of what Conner wants him to do.

He laughs.

"Superboy, I do believe you've actually managed to go and _hurt_ my _feelings_. You really _are_ a Luthor, aren't you?"

"I hate you."

Luthor's smile only deepens. "Superboy, all teenage boys hate their fathers. Now go to your room before you tear out your stitches."

"I'm going," Conner answers, "But only because I can't stand to be in the same room with you any longer."

He leaves, making sure that the energy bars close properly. It's eerie how quiet the Watchtower gets when the entire League is on Earth. He clenches onto the IV pole at the thought of being alone in the corridor. He wonders if energy bars could really hold Luthor. He has an IQ of 230. If Luthor wanted to… he could probably get out.

Conner's so caught up in thinking about Luthor, and about Luthor getting out, that he forgets himself and almost misses the sound of shallow breathing cut up by faint pained gasps. Almost. But he does catch it, and in an instant, he's off, not quite running, because it hurts too much to run, but walking quickly. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees who's making the sound.

Conner finds Batman, collapsed, face down on the floor, gasping like a fish out of water. Then, in an instant, Conner's on his knees, pain forgotten, turning Batman around. Then he has Batman, limp and barely breathing on his lap. Conner tears a gauntlet and presses his fingers to the naked wrist, feeling for a pulse. It's there, but it's weak and erratic, and getting weaker, like Batman's heart is tired and near defeat.

"Shit, shit," Conner says, because he can't think of what else to say. Mid-Nite is down on earth, and Conner's on the Watchtower so rarely that he doesn't know how or where he'd go to call for help. "Batman, Bruce," he whispers softly. Then he slaps Bruce's face gently, but Batman's unconscious and not coming back, and Conner has no idea what's wrong with him, or what to do. In desperation, he picks Batman up and runs—pain be damned—to the only other person he knows might be able to help on the Watchtower.

"Help, please, help," Conner begs, laying Batman's still body at the feet of Lex Luthor. For his part, Luthor gets up. Conner can tell from the way Luthor's breathing changes that he can only do it with tremendous difficulty.

"He's going through withdrawal," Luthor says, as if though that could explain anything. "He should have another vial of the drug on him, if not—

Conner stops listening, he's looking through Batman's utility belt. There's nothing in the compartments that he can see that looks like a vial of a drug, but Batman's added a second compartment lined with lead. Conner takes a deep breath, because he knows there's a sizable chance that he's about to open a box full of Kryptonite in the same room as Lex Luthor, and then he tears open the compartment, ignoring the pain of the electrical shock the utility belt releases the moment it senses that someone other than Batman is trying to open it.

He pulls out a syringe, and looks up to Luthor, eyes imploring for guidance.

"Stick it in his carotid and inject it all at once," Luthor instructs, and after a moment's hesitation, Conner does as he's told.

In less than an instant, Batman's eyes open and he reaches for the syringe in his neck, pulling out the needle and throwing the syringe across the room. It's like nothing Conner's ever seen. Batman is up in a flash, and then he pulls Conner up, and without a look at Luthor, ushers the boy out of the room.

Batman won't meet his eyes. Part of Conner wants to leave it alone. Just. Let it be. He doesn't have to ask. And if he doesn't ask, then Batman doesn't have to answer, and then they can go on pretending like nothing's wrong. But Conner's just narrowly evaded death, found out he's part human, and that—

He stops thinking about it. Just for right now, he can't think about everything, everything that's changed.

"What was that?" he asks finally.

Batman doesn't answer.

Conner waits in the hopes that if the silence is long enough Batman will answer, but Batman doesn't, and after five minutes of silence, Conner has to speak again, heart in his throat. "I don't know what I just pumped into you, but I know that I've only rarely been as afraid as I was when I found you _gasping_ on the floor. If you're not telling me, then it's because it's something bad—but you should tell me, because if it _is_ something bad, Luthor _will_ and I'd rather hear it from you."

This time, it only takes Batman a moment to breathe in before answering: "Miraclo. That's it. Rex Tyler, the first Hourman, developed and used it to give him expanded strength and agility by stimulating his synapses—but how it works isn't important."

"Did it leave him passed out on the floor when it ran out?"

"No. I don't know why that happened. Miraclo is a mostly safe drug."

"Luthor said…"

"I know what Luthor said."

"Do you know what it means?"

"Medically? I have no idea. But…"

"Luthor knows who you are."

Batman sighs and sits down. "Luthor thinks he knows who I am."

"No. Luthor thinks you're Bruce Wayne. And he's right. And he knows he's right. And he also knows you're taking something—I think he knows what it is, or if he doesn't know exactly, he's got a good enough idea."

After a moment, Batman sighs and his shoulders sag. The Caped Crusader suddenly looks old. "It's not an ideal situation," he admits. "But so long as he's here in the Watchtower, Luthor can't do anything with that knowledge. Superman and I will have to talk to him tomorrow and we'll see what needs to be done. Now, Conner, you need to get some rest. You've had a very exciting past few days and you need to recuperate."

"Nice euphemism for getting shot," Conner says.

Batman smiles. "Oh, I have a whole dictionary of euphemisms for being shot. And stabbed. And falling from a fifth floor window."

"Will you stay?" he asks, in part because he wants Batman to stay with him, in part so he can keep an eye on Batman.

Batman nods, and Conner falls asleep to the steady beat of Batman's heart.

* * *

Conner wakes up to the sound of drumming fingers.

"Is everything alright?" he asks Batman.

"Yes, given the circumstances," Batman answers, looking up to face Conner. "The earthquake crisis is mostly resolved. Five hundred people are still missing, but J'onn and Flash can take care of that. Superman and I have to talk to Luthor in fifteen minutes. I need to go prepare. Is it alright if I leave you with M'gann?"

Conner nods, because it's not like he can tell Batman no. He can't help but notice the small tremor in Batman's hand as the older man gets up and walks away.

Once he's alone with M'gann, he asks her if she noticed anything wrong with Batman.

"He's worried and tired. We all are."

"His hand was shaking," he tells her.

"Conner, he hasn't slept in days. And he's still recuperating himself. He's only human, you know."

"Yeah, I know," and for the first time, he finds that idea particularly distressing. He doesn't want to think about it, so he asks her about San Francisco and the earthquake.

The rest of the team, the Kents, and Ms. Lane trickle in during the day. Mid-Nite stops by periodically to check u on him and yell at his visitors for exhausting his patient. Batman doesn't stop by until 10 pm, but Conner's glad to see he looks much better than he did in the morning.

"Did you catch some sleep?"

"I got what I needed," Batman answers with a smile. Then he settles down to business: "We're releasing Luthor into police custody tomorrow morning at noon, Metropolis time. They'll release him by the end of the week. After that, he's under his own authority. As far as we can tell, he hasn't figured out Kent; just me. He made several insinuations that he didn't have any plans for the information about my identity, but I've had emergency protocols in place for a long time. If he goes public with the information, Bruce Wayne and his fortune will disappear. He doesn't know the Watchtower is in space. He believes it's an underground complex under the Hall of Justice, much like Cadmus.

"He requested to speak to you before he left for police custody—

"No," Conner interrupts.

"Of course not. I told him that he's never to go near you again, unless he wants to discover a very unpleasant side of me.

"The League is afraid of what Luthor may do or attempt to do. Unfortunately, we can neither control his actions nor alter his memories. As such, the League thinks it would be for the best if you stayed away from Metropolis, at least, openly."

"I understand," Conner agrees, though he hates the idea of avoiding the city out of a fear of Luthor.

Batman nods. "There's one last thing I'd like to discuss."

"Yeah?"

"At least in the short term, you'll need a place to stay. You'll need six months or so to recover from your injuries and from your operation. The Cave is not really an ideal place for that sort of thing, and Red Tornado is not equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Doctor Mid-Nite would prefer for you to stay at the Watchtower, but Mr. and Mrs. Kent have volunteered to take care of you during your recovery. You'd be welcome to live with them on the farm, and the League would install a teleporter there so M'gann and your friends would be able to visit."

Conner waits for the third option. He waits for Batman to offer to let him stay at the Manor, with Dick and Alfred.

The offer doesn't come. He's about to ask if he can stay with Batman instead—a thousand reasons why that makes sense are blasting through his head—but he chickens out, because Batman might say no, and Conner isn't sure what he'd do if he did. So finally he licks his lips and nods his head.

"Smallville is nice."

Batman smiles and gets up. He ruffles Conner's hair. "Smallville is nice," he says. "Martha and Jonathan will want to talk more about it tomorrow. Sleep well."

* * *

**A/N: **So, one of the interesting things about reposting a story that was originally posted to the anon meme in fits and starts is figuring out where the chapter breaks should be. I'm not quite sure where the posting breaks occurred for this segment, though I have a hunch the section breaks give us a good idea for this chapter (often they don't).

My original intention had been to post this as two chapters, the first called "Origins" and the second "Science." As I was posting here, I thought about changing the title of the second chapter to "Plenty Good at Science." But, the truth is that the second chapter relates to Conner's origins, and the first chapter has lots of science (or sci-fi pseudo science babble, though I think it's a little bit better than some of the stuff we saw on the show (suppressing human DNA to make you more powerful? WTF is that?)). So, congratulations: you get a longer chapter.


	22. Up, Up and Away

**Author's** Notes:And here, we get to the end of this story. I was originally going to post this as three chapters (and I've kept the chapter titles in here, so you can see that), but I decided to post it all at once as one big chapter.

**Home**

* * *

It takes all of two days to install a zetabeam teleporter on the Kent farm. Clark shows up at his room in the Watchtower infirmary in the morning, and by midmorning Conner is sitting with the Kents on the porch drinking Martha's wonderful lemonade.

The house is different from the last time he was here. "This room wasn't here the last time I came, right?" he asks, just to make sure he doesn't have some sort of amnesia due to getting shot.

"Clark built it," Jonathan tells him.

"You—Thanks. But it wasn't necessary. I could have just stayed in Clark's room."

"Martha and I wanted to make sure you knew that you will always have a room here, and that it's _your_ room."

* * *

Batman and Robin stop by in the middle of the day—in civies—to drop off some of his things. Martha's excited to have the illustrious Bruce Wayne in her home. She insists that he stay for lunch .until finally he smiles and agrees, so they all sit down at the table: Martha, Jonathan, Clark, Batman and Robin, and Conner. Midnite has him on a strict diet, so all there is to eat is boiled chicken, lightly salted, and boiled carrots and peas.

Conner's amazed, because somehow, Martha's managed to make the food taste pretty yummy, and he tells her as much.

"The secret ingredient is love," she says.

Batman seems to like it. He eats everything on his plate and even asks for seconds, prompting a confused look from both Clark and Robin (Clark seems scandalized by the fact that Batman wants to eat the chicken; Robin seems caught off-guard by the fact that Batman wants to _eat_.)

Clark on the other hand, takes one bite of the chicken and then proceeds to just mush it from one side of the plate to another.

"Eat your lunch, Clark," Martha reprimands.

"But Ma," he whines, "it tastes like nothing."

"Clark," Jonathan says in a warning tone. "There are children starving in Africa."

"I could take this to them," Clark half jokes. "Look, I don't even _need_ to eat."

"Shut up and eat your mother's cooking," Batman grumbles.

Clark looks up, frowns, but then, he spears a bit of chicken on his fork and puts it in his mouth. "Next you'll be forcing me to eat salads."

"Without salad dressing, even," Batman says with a smile.

"Geeze Bruce, I'm not a criminal. You don't need to terrorize me."

"Force of habit," Batman answers with a smirk, and everyone laughs.

"Who wants apple pie?" Martha asks, "Not you Con," she ruffles his hair. "You get apple sauce."

Martha ladles warm apple sauce into a cup for him. Then she cuts a slice and serves it to Robin. Batman's reaching for his slice when his watch beeps. He pulls his hands away, looks at his watch and frowns.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I have to go. Dick can stay, if that's ok with you."

"Is everything ok?" Clark asks.

"Yes. I just have to go."

"Is it—because, you know, if it's League stuff, I could help."

"I have a meeting. Nothing else," Batman answers, getting up.

"Do you want to take a slice of pie for the road?" Martha asks.

Temptation flits through Batman's eyes, but he bites his lip and shakes his head. "I shouldn't. But thank you; this has been delicious."

"Well, no point in letting good pie go to waste. I'll take his slice!" Clark says. Dick chuckles and Jonathan rolls his eyes.

"I'll show you out, son," Jonathan offers.

Batman's shoulders stiffen. "That's fine. I can show myself out. Dick, be home by ten for patrol, ok?"

"Yep."

And with that, Batman leaves.

* * *

In just a few hours, the Smallville transport becomes the most popular League teleporter. Black Canary, it turns out, has experience with physical therapy, and Doctor Mid-Nite stops by to make sure everything is to order, and to explain to Martha what Conner can and can't eat.

Wally and Artemis stop by for dinner. Somehow, Martha manages to fill Wally up. When he undoes his belt and declares that he is officially stuffed, Artemis's eyebrows look like they're going to disappear into her hair. He doesn't say anything about it.

M'gann stops by and spends the night.

Even Lois uses it to come visit several times a day between meetings, interviews, and deadlines, though Conner notices that only comes when Clark is out of the house.

"So, you're avoiding Clark, aren't you?" he just comes out with it over tea.

She sighs. "Look Con, I know… I know you want me and Clark to… I don't know. Ride off into the sunset together."

"But it's not that simple," he says.

"It's not that simple."

"I don't see why not." He crosses his arms and looks down. "He loves you, you know."

Lois looks away. "Conner, Clark _lied_ to me. For _years_."

"He was afraid."

"I know. But… honestly, Con, I don't want to talk about it. The whole situation is pretty messed up. Maybe… maybe Clark and I will be ok. Maybe we won't. Maybe we'll go back to being friends. Maybe even more than that. But not right now. Not today. Not tomorrow."

Con sighs again. He changes the topic. "You know, Ms. Lane, with everything that's happened…"

"Yeah?"

"I almost died."

"I know."

"And then I didn't. One minute I was having lunch with you and Clark, and then I was dying, and then I was really dying, and then… then I wasn't dying."

Lois nods.

"I'm thinking… I want—well. Ok." He's looking for words. "I thought I knew who I was. But now…"

Lois frowns and puts a comforting hand on Conner. "Oh, Con…"

"No. It's not that. I mean… Look. It sucks, ok? I hate the fact that there's anything at all tying me to Luthor. I hate the fact that I have half of his liver inside of me. It makes me want to scream, want to tear it out. But… in another way… it's actually, you know, kind of… kind of liberating."

Lois cocks her head. She wasn't expecting that.

"I'm not Superman's clone. I'm someone else. Someone completely different. And the people who made me… Desmond, Cadmus, Luthor… they had an idea of who and what they wanted me to be, but none of that is true. It means… Lois, is it terrible that for the first time, I feel like, like, like my destiny isn't etched in stone? Suddenly, I have a future that isn't genetic mandate. I'm going to be someone, and I have no idea who. I get to find out."

Lois smiles warmly and squeezes his hand. "That's not terrible at all. That's great."

"Yeah. I know, right?" he laughs. "It's wonderful. You know, when Clark and I stayed here before, Martha and I sort of got into a fight because I didn't want to go to college. I didn't see the point, because I was going to just go and be a superhero, and that was it. But now, now four years of drinking and finding myself sounds like a great old time."

Lois laughs. "Ok. But you've got to promise me to drink responsibly."

"I'm nothing if not responsible," he puts on his best devious smile. It gets a laugh out of Lois.

"So, where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. The only thing I know about colleges is what Cadmus programmed to know. It's just a list of schools with numbers. Harvard 1, Princeton 1, Yale 3… it goes on like that."

"Sounds like the US News and World Report." Suddenly Lois squeals with delight and claps her hands. "You know what this means Con?"

"What?"

"College road trip! Oh, you know what? I bet I can even get Perry to pay for it! And I can help you with the essay, and Clark can tutor you for the SAT or the ACT, because that's the boring part, and then I can coach you for interviews, and by the time I'm done, Harvard and MIT are going to be tripping over themselves to get you to go."

"I don't have any extracurricular activities."

"Do you want an internship with the _Planet_? Because you've got one if you want. And I'm sure you can also get Wayne Enterprises to give you a summer job." She puts her elbow on his shoulder. "You're gonna go far kid."

* * *

**Press Conference**

* * *

Martha and M'gann are baking in the kitchen. Conner's observing, and Lois is "helping" by eating the cookie dough.

"Needs more chocolate," she says as she sucks her finger. Then her blackberry buzzes.

"Pass me that, will you Con?"

He hands it over.

"What's it say?" he asks.

Lois frowns. "Apparently, Luthor's throwing a press conference in five minutes."

She writes a short reply, then puts the phone away and dips her finger into the batter once more.

"Aren't you going to go?" Conner asks.

"Nope. Had enough of Luthor. I also turned down an exclusive he wanted to give me." She rolls her eyes. "Besides, I couldn't go, even if I wanted to. I can't make it in time."

A second later, Conner looks up and asks, voice low, "Is it being broadcast?"

"Is what being broadcast?"

"The press conference."

"Luthor usually broadcasts his press conferences over the internet. But I'm sure it'll be incredibly boring. He'll gloat about how he's been released from custody and cleared of all charges, and then talk about how excited he is for LexCorp this quarter. Chances are, he'll even unveil a new product. His PR people stumbled upon a winning formula long ago."

"Even still… I'm going to go watch it, ok?"

"Conner…" M'gann starts in a tone that's just begging him to stay.

He turns around. "Luthor is free because he had me shot. I want to see how he spins that."

He goes to his room, and goes to the LexCorp website. There's an announcement that the press conference will start in a few moments, but the video block is blank.

He hears a knock at his door. It's Lois.

"Come in."

She opens the door just slightly and peeks in. "Turns out MNN is broadcastingit too. If you want, we can all go watch it in the living room."

He nods and gets up.

* * *

Mercy—Conner remembers the name from the time she tried to shoot Kid Flash—rolls Luthor out on a wheelchair. Conner can't resist the urge to roll his eyes. He's pretty sure Luthor is going all out for sympathy. Surely, Luthor doesn't need the neck brace, and those bruises on his face should be turning yellow already.

Idly, Conner wonders what ridiculous sob story Luthor has made up for the press. He's looking forward to seeing Clark ask the hard-hitting questions, even if there's no doubt in Conner's mind that Luthor will brush them aside.

"It's like he's made of Teflon," Lois snorts.

"He'd good for baking?" M'gann asks.

"He's poisonous?" Conner asks.

"Nothing sticks," Martha explains.

It's true. Conner frowns. The worst part is the way in which Luthor used _him_ to get out of his latest mess.

Back on the TV, Mercy's brought Luthor to the podium. She offers him her hand, to help him up, but he brushes it aside and gets up himself, even if his hands shake while he's doing it.

"He's overplaying it," Conner complains.

"Oh yeah," Lois agrees.

Finally standing, Luthor adjusts his tie. He looks straight at the camera—it looks like he's staring straight at Conner. Luthor smiles; Conner grits his teeth.

"It's been quite a week, hasn't it?" Luthor laughs, like it's supposed to be some sort of joke.

"You know," he holds up the papers laid out in front of him. "I have really good PR people. My speechwriter's really first rate. I bet he's pulling his hair out, right now, because I haven't said a single thing he told me to.

"This speech," he waves the paper, "is fantastic. Unfortunately, it's all a pack of lies.

"It's not Mr. Williams's fault. He just wrote down what Mercy told him to write. I wasn't really much help to her. When she asked me what had happened, I told her it wasn't any of her business. So she just… worked with what she had, which was nothing, and Mr. Williams worked with what he had, which was nothing, which I guess, is what makes his speech so impressive.

"Now, I'm working with what I have, which in terms of poetic ability really is nothing, and in terms of heart is nearly next to nothing.

"By the way, I took a couple of Xanax right before this, in case anyone is wondering. Because people should really wonder about people who suddenly do completely crazy things against their nature. It's funny. Normally, I'm much better at this. I'm having a really hard time putting this into words. I really thought the Xanax would help."

"Where in the world is he going with this?" Lois asks.

Conner is wondering the same thing, to be honest.

"But it has been quite a week. Month even. First I was arrested, then I disappeared, and now, here I am. Free and in front of you.

"This speech," he waves the papers, "says I was released because I was cleared of all charges, and that I'll be suing several parties for the wrongs they've done me.

"Both of those statements are wrong. I wasn't cleared of any charges, and I'm not suing anyone. I'm here in front of you because Batman negotiated a plea bargain. In exchange for—

"Let me explain. It's been a crazy week. But not because of any of the reasons I mentioned. After my initial anger at Mr. Kent, I found that incarceration was nothing more than a minor annoyance. There was no doubt in my mind that I would, sooner or later, be acquitted. To keep myself—oh, I don't know, _occupied_, I guess, I hired Slade Wilson, better known as Deathstroke the Terminator, to assassinate Superboy."

A wave of murmurs sweeps the crowd. Luthor swallows, and Conner does the same.

"The worst part is that I thought it was funny. No, that's not the worst part. The worst part is that it almost worked. In fact, it would have worked if not…

"That's why I disappeared. That's why Batman negotiated the plea bargain. Because, it turned out that the joke was on me.

"Everyone with two eyes can see the similarities between Superboy and Superman. It's as if though they're genetically identical. Twins. For a long time, I thought they were genetically identical. In fact, I paid top dollar for them to be genetically identical But, apparently, I got ripped off, because they're not. Only half of Superboy's DNA comes from Superman. The other half, it turns out, comes from me.

"That's why I disappeared. Because Superboy needed a life-saving organ transfer because I had arranged for him to be shot with a kryptonite bullet I had designed to explode on impact, and it turned out that I was the only compatible donor.

"I'm 43 years old. I've been married seven times. And it turns out, I have a son, and I almost murdered him, because I thought it would be funny.

"That, I think, has to be the worst thing I have ever done in my life. It's a contest, though, because everything in Mr. Kent's article is completely true, and because there are so many things I've done that even Mr. Kent's article doesn't mention.

"I don't imagine Superboy will ever forgive me. If he's smart, he won't. I know he won't believe me when I say that I'm sorry. But, I am. I am very sorry. I've never been more sorry for anything. So, because actions speak louder than words, I am stepping down as CEO and President of LexCorp, effective immediately, and surrendering myself into police custody. I plan to plead guilty to all charges and cooperate fully with the authorities."

Then, instead of waiting for questions, Luthor sits back down, collapses even, in the wheelchair. Someone asks a question, but Luthor just waves it off.

Superman touches down on the stage a few seconds later.

"Mr. Luthor, you're under arrest," Superman says.

Luthor looks up. "Of course, it had to be you," he sighs, sounding half-defeated. "Let's get this over with." Luthor offers Superman his wrists, and Superman clamps down a pair of handcuffs before carrying Luthor off.

Conner gets up to turn the TV off.

"Conner, are you ok?" M'gann asks.

"Yeah. Perfect. Luthor's going to jail. It's perfect. Who wants applesauce?" And then he goes to the kitchen and serves himself some applesauce, like everything is ok.

* * *

Conner wants to run. He wants to run, kiss the sound barrier, scream and outrun his scream.

But he can't.

Doctor's orders.

So instead, he just waits until everyone's gone to bed, and then he goes for a walk. The moon is out: full, round and bright and the stars sparkle in a way they just don't in Happy Harbor. There's remarkably little noise. Grasshoppers and ants, rustling leaves, whistling winds.

He blinks. He won't cry, he promises himself. Luthor won't make him cry again. But if his eyes obey, his nose doesn't, and he has to sniffle back the runny mucus.

Suddenly, there's another sound. Whistling. He turns around and sees a light in the barn. Someone's whistling there.

It turns out to be Jonathan, sitting on a bale of hay. He has a block of wood in one hand and a knife in another. He looks up at Conner and gives him a warm smile. "Couldn't sleep either, eh?" he asks.

Conner shakes his head.

"Sit down then," Jonathan invites.

Conner takes a seat on another bale of hay, and Jonathan turns his attention back to the block of wood he's cutting up.

"What are you doing?" Conner asks after a few seconds of being ignored.

"Carving this block of wood. Hobby of mine."

"Well, what are you making?"

"Don't know." Jonathan shrugs. "I think every block of wood has something living inside it. My job is just to find it. I think this one might be a dog. Or maybe a cat." He holds the block up for Conner to see. "What do you think this is?"

Conner tilts his head. It's just a block of wood. "A wolf," he says.

Jonathan looks at the block of wood, and then he laughs. "Yes, of course. It's a wolf. I can't believe I didn't see that before."

"Do you carve often?" Conner asks.

"Not as often as I used to. Here, I'll show you." He gets up and signals to Conner to follow him. They go into the garage and Jonathan shows him a work table covered with little wooden figurines. People, animals, even a replica of the _Daily Planet_ globe.

"These are amazing."

"Thanks. They're not that great."

"No. They are. Can you show me how to do this?"

Jonathan looks taken aback by the request. But then he smiles and laughs. "Of course." He opens a drawer and pulls out a big block of wood and a knife and hands them over to Connor. "Normally, I'd tell you not to cut yourself, but… well…" Jonathan laughs. "You know."

"Yeah," Conner smirks.

"Still, you should avoid hitting the knife against your fingers. It tends to dull the blade. Clark could never get a hang of it. He ruined three knives that way before he just gave up."

"I'll be careful, I promise."

Jonathan nods. "So, what do you want to make?"

"A rose for M'gann," he says eagerly.

Jonathan laughs good naturedly. "Let's start simple and work our way up, ok?"

"Ok," Conner nods. Then he looks at the block of wood. "How about just a bowl. That should be simple enough, right?"

"That'll be plenty simple."

It takes a couple of hours, and his left hand is sore from holding the knife for so long, but in the end he has a thing that could pass for a bowl, even if it's a little lumpy. Jonathan seems very impressed, and then he hands him a piece of sandpaper and shows him how to smooth out the surface. "Start slow," he warns. "Once you get the feel for it, you can start to use your super speed, but you want to be careful, or else you'll bore a hole right through it before you've even had a chance to notice, or worse, you'll set the whole thing on fire."

It's slow and tedious, but at least it gives him a chance to flex his hand. Finally, he's done, and the bowl is smooth, if still a little lopsided. He hands it over to Jonathan for inspection, and the old man runs his wrinkled hand over the whole surface. "Not a single splinter," he says approvingly, and then he puts a hand on Conner's shoulder. "You've got a knack for this, kid."

"It's a little plain, though," Conner complains.

"Plain can be good."

"I know." Conner takes the bowl back and looks at it. He's made something. He likes that.

"Can I have another piece of wood?"

"Of course."

"Something long, not necessarily for carving. I just want to try something."

"I think I've got just the thing," Jonathan says with a nod. He goes through his pile of wood and finds a long thin plank, about seven inches by five, but only half an inch thick.

"This is perfect," Conner says with a smile. He sands one of the faces down until it's as smooth as the bowl, and then he focuses his laser vision on the wood. It takes a few tries. At first he's too cautious, then he's not cautious enough and has to squeeze out the fire, but finally, he gets it just right, and then it's just a few more tries before he gets the hang of it, and he'd burned a picture of a rose into the plank.

He hands it over to Jonathan. "What do you think?"

"I… that's really amazing," Jonathan says, and then he watches in silence as Conner does the same thing on the bowl, burning a large rose into the inside and a thorn pattern on the outside. He finishes the whole thing by carving the date into the bottom.

"For M'gann?" Jonathan asks.

"Actually," Conner says, cocking his head, "I think I'd rather give this to Martha."

"She'll love that," Jonathan says, and then teasingly he adds, "might get me in trouble though. That's really raising the stakes here. I'm not that talented."

"What are you talking about?" Conner asks. "Those are all amazing."

"Yeah. And I've had approximately eighty years of practice. You'll be carving circles around me in no time."

"Can I make something for Ms. Lane next?"

Jonathan looks at his watch. "How about tomorrow? It's nearly sunrise."

"I don't really want to go to sleep," Conner says.

"But you probably should. In fact, I should have made you go to sleep hours ago. You're still recovering from surgery."

"I know. I… well, you know."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Conner says, but then, he changes his mind. "Yeah. Actually. Yes. I do want to talk about it."

"I'm all ears, then."

"I don't know what Luthor's end game is."

"I'm not entirely sure he knows what it is either. I've never had the displeasure of meeting the man. All I know about him is that he's done everything in his power to hurt my boy."

"It's just," Conner groans, and then he realizes he's about to start crying, so he has to wait a few seconds until he's sure his voice won't break. "Either… either I can believe that Lex Luthor isn't lying. That he does want me. Or I can believe that he's lying, and that all he wants is to use me. And," he bites his lip and wipes at his eyes, "and either the only person who wants me is him, or no one wants me at all, and, and, I don't know which is worse." Jonathan looks like he's going to say something, but the floodgates are open now, and Conner has to speak his piece. "I mean… Superman, right, the great American hero, truth, justice, etc., you know, _he_ didn't want me. And, and _Batman_, you know… I though…" and now he can't help it, he just sobs, "I really thought he wanted me. But he doesn't. And then, there's Luthor, who's horrible and evil and vile, but within hours of finding out that I'm—whatever, shit, I don't know… I'm not his son—but then, you know, he goes into surgery, gives me half his liver, calls me his son, and then, and then… he goes and turns himself into the police. And it's just, Clark… for years—and Bruce—

Jonathan cuts him off with a hug.

"Kid. You're wrong if you think no one wants you." He's hugging him very tightly. Conner can't breathe, and that's probably because of the fact that his nose is clogged up right now, but he wants to think it's because of how hard Jonathan is holding him. "Martha and I want you. We're crazy about you. That's why we asked Mr. Wayne if we could take you home with us. And Clark—look, I know. Yes. It took him years to come around, and he's my son and I love him, and I'm not going to judge him one way or another, but I know he loves you too, because I've never seen him look more afraid or more sad than when we thought we were going to lose you. And Mr. Wayne—look, I don't know him. But Clark says he has problems sometimes with showing his feelings. All I know is that he moved earth and sky to save you, and you don't just do that for some random kid."

"He didn't want me at his house."

Jonathan sighs and pulls away. "Is that what this is all about? Look, Martha and I are delighted to have you here. But, if you'd rather be in Gotham, if you think you'd be happier in Gotham, I'll talk to Clark, and he'll talk to Mr. Wayne."

"I didn't mean to imply—

"It's fine Conner. Loving someone means wanting what's best for them. And if you'd be better off in Gotham… well now we have one of those fancy teleporters, and Martha and I can go visit you there.

"Now, get up and get to bed. The world will look brighter in the morning."

* * *

**Plans for the Future**

* * *

Conner sleeps like the dead and doesn't wake up until 3 in the afternoon when his grumbling stomach, combined with the urge to go to the bathroom finally win out and call him back to the world.

He showers quickly and gets dressed before rushing downstairs to the kitchen, where he finds Martha serving tea to Batman. Batman looks up and his blue eyes soften. "Jonathan said you and I needed to talk."

Conner shrugs.

"Let's go for a drive, then," Batman says getting up and thanks Martha. Then his watch beeps and he frowns. "Actually, Martha, could I use the bathroom first?"

She nods, "Down that corridor, second door to the right."

Batman disappears for a few minutes. Conner hears the sound of running water, then a flush, then more running water.

"Nice touch on the lead paint," Batman says once he's out.

Martha chuckles. "It was really a necessity once Clark got his x-ray vision. He couldn't turn it off at will, at first."

Batman just sort of smirks, and then signals to Conner for him to follow him. A car, nothing showy, is parked outside.

Fifty miles later, Batman breaks the uncomfortable silence. "You know, Conner, if I didn't invite you to live at the Manor, it was only because I thought the Kents would provide a better home. They're used to dealing with people with powers like yours, and… they're good people who love you."

"I know."

"Do you want to come to Gotham?"

Conner is silent for a long time. "Would it be ungrateful of me to say yes?"

Batman shrugs. "That doesn't matter.

"The thing is Conner… I'd love to have you. But. You know, I'm an incredibly busy man. I have obligations to my company, to Gotham, to the Justice League. The only times I see Richard, really, are when we're out on patrol, or when decorum dictates we make a joint appearance. And, I… I couldn't take you out in public. Because everything I do as Bruce Wayne is designed to call attention to him. And we can't afford to have people paying attention to you. It's one thing to be Conner Jones, high school student, and another, very different thing to be Conner Jones, Bruce Wayne's ward. People would _look_ at you. And if they look, they might _see_. I could send you to school with Dick and Artemis, though I'm not sure how much you'd enjoy that. Or I could have Alfred home school you. But I can't take you on patrol until you're better, and I can't have you at public events. And frankly, the Manor is a horrible place."

"When you put it that way…"

"I'm sorry Conner. I'm just… not a very well-put-together person."

There's nothing to say to that, so Conner changes the topic. "Hey, you know, I was thinking."

"Yeah?"

"I think I do want to go to college after all."

"Oh, good."

"I thought you thought it was a waste of time."

"It was a waste of time for me. It's not necessarily a waste of time for everyone. Dick is going to go, you know, in a few years. Any idea where you want to go?"

"I figured, I'd look and apply. Lois wants to go on a road trip."

"Sounds like a great idea. I think that's something normal people do. I'd have to check."

Conner laughs. "She wants to see if she can get the paper to bank roll it."

"If White won't, I will. Don't worry. And I'll pay for your schooling too, so don't worry about that either. Worry about getting in to the school of your choice."

"I don't have that many extra curricular activities."

"Of course. You don't have time, what, with your prestigious internship at Wayne Enterprises."

"Lois said you'd do that. She also said she'd give me an internship at the _Planet_."

"Well, there you go. And, of course, you'll have a letter of recommendation from Bruce Wayne."

"Isn't that a bit much?"

"Conner, no one know how wonderful you are half as well as I do. I'd write you a letter as Batman, but, well, that really might be too much."

"Lois said she'd help me with the essay, and that Clark could help with SAT tutoring."

"I think that's a wonderful plan. Though, if he's not any good, you can always take a class."

* * *

News travels fast. Clark shows up for dinner with an entire suitcase full of practice books. College Board, Kaplan, Princeton Review, Barron's—everything. For the PSAT, the SAT, the SAT Subject Tests, and the ACT.

"Well, I guess now you have a library, son," Jonathan chuckles.

Martha just bursts out laughing when she sees the stack of books. "Clark, if you didn't have superpowers, I don't think you could even _lift_ those books."

"Well, I didn't know which ones were the best. And besides, you have to be strategic about these things. See what you're best at, and take those tests."

They all have dinner, though Conner notices that this time Martha gives Clark less stewed beef and more pie. After dinner, Clark explains some of the test-taking strategies. "So, for the SAT, they take points off if you get the wrong answer. So, they say you should only guess if you can narrow it down. But there's no guessing penalty for the ACT, so you can just go ahead and guess on that one."

Conner nods solemnly throughout the whole lecture, and then takes the _Official SAT Study Guide_ with him upstairs to work through a practice test. It's long, but not as tedious as he had feared. Clark comes up to his room with a bowl of applesauce when he's done.

"Let's trade the book for the applesauce."

Clark grades the test, and when he's done, he looks upset.

"Did I screw up?" Conner asks.

"You got a 2400."

"Is that bad?" Conner asks, bracing for the worst.

"Only for my ego," Clark answers. "That's a perfect score. What's more, you didn't get a single question wrong."

"But… I'm not that smart."

"What makes you say that?" Clark asks, taken aback.

"Just… it's true, isn't it? I mean, I know I'm not as smart as Robin or Kid Flash."

"Dick and Wally are both very smart. They have maybe different skill sets than you, but that doesn't mean you're dumb, or even, dumber than them."

"Well, Desmond—

Clark cuts him off. "You remember how you were able to take down Amazo? You outsmarted that machine. You outsmarted the entire League. It took us _hours_ to take him down. That was very impressive."

"Yeah. Batman said as much."

Clark pushes his glasses up. "Anyway, I guess you should do a few more practice tests to make sure that's not a fluke. And, then, I guess there' not really a need to do the ACT. I guess we should work on SAT IIs next, though, I might, um, be out of my depth."

* * *

Once he's figured out that thanks to his Cadmus education he's pretty much set for the SAT subject tests too, he and Clark sit down and try to be strategic.

"I guess you could just take all of them and impress them."

"Bad idea," Lois's voice calls out.

Clark's face lights up when he sees her. "Lois!"

"Shut up Smallville," she says, "I'm still not talking to you. But no way am I going to let you lead Con here astray.

She grabs a chair on the other side of Conner. "I'm thinking you should take a foreign language, the advanced math one, and then something like world history or science. You could do world history and chemistry. Four's not too much, is it?"

"No, I don't think four's too much," Clark chimes in.

"Conner, can you please tell Smallville I'm not talking to him," Lois says, but she does it with a smile that looks sneaky rather than polite, which Conner takes to be a good sign.

"I don't think it's too much," Conner says.

"Yes, _Conner_," Clark says, "I think it'd be good to take a foreign language, and math, and then global history and chemistry. It'd show them that you're well balanced."

"Though, _Conner_," Lois adds, "I'm thinking maybe you want to get a few questions wrong on purpose. You know, so they don't think you're a robot."

"Not too many, though, _Conner_, because, well, you want to impress them."

"So, _Conner_," Lois asks, "What language?"

"I don't know, _Conner_," Clark answers. "Chinese is the language of the future, it seems."

"Actually, _Conner_, Chinese would be a good subject to get a perfect score on. It'd be incredibly impressive, since you're not a native speaker, and so many people who take the test are native speakers."

By the end of the evening, they've decided what tests he'll take and Clark has even signed him up for both the SAT and the SAT subject tests. But the real reason Conner goes to bed with a smile on his face is that Clark and Lois are speaking to each other again, even if they seem to think that they're named "Conner."

* * *

In the mornings, when Lois and Clark are at work and the Team are at school, Jonathan teaches him more and more about wood carving. They work their way up from bowls and boxes to spoons, to forks, to decorative knives and letter openers, to animals. They start with simple animals, caricatured cats and dogs, and then they move up to more realistic cats and dogs, tigers and lions, humans, dolls with joints—he's slowly creating gifts for everyone on his Christmas list.

When he's well enough to fly around the world, he starts picking up different kinds of woods from different forests to experiment with colors and textures.

He discovers ebony and falls in love with the color. But it's dense and hard and he finds it hard to carve. It's unlike the other woods he's carved and that makes it hard for him to properly estimate the amount of force he needs. He ends up ruining three knives, until he decides enough is enough and melts the blades back into shape.

But it's good experience, and he finally manages to carve the rose he wanted for M'gann.

* * *

Working for the _Planet_ is hard.

Lois, he knows, likes him. But that doesn't mean she's above working him to the bone. She expects him to write a 700-word article a week. Her standards are nothing less than exacting. He spends a few hours on the first assignment. Lois sends it back with the comment, "If this is the kind of garbage you're going to submit, no need to hand anything in next week."

He's a mess for the rest of the day. Jonathan and Martha both notice it, and Clark has to stop by to ask him what's wrong.

"Lois thinks I'm a moron," he tells Clark, showing him her email.

Clark frowns and then reads over the article Conner sent in.

"Well," he says finally once he's done reading it, "it's not terrible."

"Lois hates it."

"Actually... Look, if she thought this was the best you could do, she'd give you constructive feedback. How much time did you spend?"

Conner shrugs. "I don't know. A few hours."

"Lois thinks you can do a lot better."

The next day, Clark sends him three pages of comments on style, substance, additional avenues of inquiry. In response, Conner spends all the next day on his computer researching and then redrafts the whole thing and sends it back to Clark, they go back and forth on it, until Clark tells him it's good, and then he sends it back to Lois.

She stops by for dinner with his draft drenched in red ink.

* * *

The day of the SAT, M'gann shows up with a freshly baked batch of cookies. "I'll have them after, to celebrate," he tells her.

She gives him a kiss for luck, right before he gets into the car. [I wish you'd come earlier, to give me… something else for luck.]

She laughs. [Well, think of it as a reward to look forward to.]

"Oh, M'gann," he says holding up the bag of cookies, you always give me the _best_ presents."

* * *

He gets out of the exam early. Earlier even than expected. He's pretty sure he aced it and it's a beautiful day. So he calls Jonathan, asks him if it'd be ok if he flew home, and in five minute he's touching down in front of the porch.

M'gann's already there to greet him with a kiss.

"So how'd it go?" she asks.

"Would you kiss me better if I told you it went badly and I needed cheering up, or if I told you it went well and I wanted to celebrate?" he asks her.

She slaps at him playfully, but then she gives him a kiss, just like the one he wanted.

"And the best part is," he tells her with a smile, "now I get to eat your cookies."

She claps with glee. "Try them! I've been working on the recipe for months!"

"I can't wait!" He takes the zip lock bag out of his backpack and grabs a cookie. It looks perfect: just the right shade of golden brown. He takes a bite out of it. The texture is nothing short of perfect; it's crunchy on the outside, gooey on the inside, and with craisins, white chocolate chips, and candied orange peel, it's got a fantastic mix of textures.

M'gann's face falls. "Don't you like it?"

He looks up, realizing his face had fallen into a frown. "No, no, it's very good." But then, because sometimes he's an idiot, "It's just…"

"It's just?" a dangerous light comes into M'gann's eyes.

He should know better, but instead he opens his mouth, "Well… it tastes like a cookie Martha might make."

"Martha's great at baking."

"Yeah," Conner agrees, "But… I like _your_ cookies. You know, the horrible burnt ones with too much flour and not enough chocolate chips, that I could only eat because you'd made them?" He sits down and doesn't quite look up at her. "You know, when I was in the hospital, Robin snuck me one of your cookies. It was lumpy and burnt, and so typically _you_, and that was when it struck me that I was going to die, and that I was never going to get to eat another one of your godawful cookies, and I just couldn't stand it."

He looks up, and her eyes are bright with tears. She pulls him up and kisses him like she's never kissed him before, and then they go and bake the worst batch of cookies in the history of the world until Martha gets a scent of the mess they're making in the kitchen and chases them away with a broom, which, to be perfectly honest, is fine by Conner, because as much as he likes M'gann's crappy cookies, there are other things he likes even better about M'gann.

* * *

The envelope with his scores arrives while he's visiting Stanford with Lois. Clark pick it up at the Kent farm and drops it off at their hotel. Conner, however, won't be pried from the laptop Batman bought him.

"I'm working on my essay," he complains. Technically it's true.

"Yeah, yeah, look, I've read it over a thousand times. It's basically perfect. Funny, charming, poignant, blah, blah, blah. 'Why I Love Her (Cookies)' They're going to eat it up. Come face the envelope like a man."

He sighs. "Have you peeked?" he asks Clark.

"Nope." Clark hands him the envelope.

It feels heavy in Conner's hand, and he can't stand to open it. Lois snatches it out of his hand and does it for him.

"Well, kid," she starts with a wicked grin, "look for yourself."

2340.

Without meaning to, he gives out a whoop of triumph.

"This calls for a celebration. I'm taking you out for fro-yo!" Lois says, grabbing her purse.

"So, I guess I'll see you later," Clark starts to say once they're outside the hotel.

"Where the heck do you think you're going, Smallville?" Lois asks.

"Tehran?"

Lois scoffs. "We're taking Conner out to celebrate."

Clark seems taken aback by the invitation. He blinks, pushes his glasses back, and then whines, "We're not going to that disgusting Pinkberry place you like, where the frozen yogurt actually tastes like yogurt, are we?"

"First off, yes. Pinkberry is delicious. Second though, they have a new hazelnut chocolate flavor that tastes like Nutella, and you can pour as many artery clogging toppings on it as you can fit on the cup." And with that, of course, Clark is sold, though, Conner thinks he'd have been sold on regular plain yogurt if push had come to shove.

* * *

Two weeks after they get back from visiting schools, Conner gets a call from Lois. "Hey kid, Perry wants to run your article on what college recruiters tell students in tomorrow's Education section. He needs you to make and approve these changes, though, and you need a couple more quotes."

"I'll get right on it."

He gets it in five minutes before deadline, and it runs in the morning paper. Clark brings a box of issues for him, and Jonathan presents him with a carved frame for the article. It goes up in his room, above his desk, and he sends a link to Batman.

Batman replies: "Great piece Conner. Really proud. Sent from my BlackBerry."

Something about the message dampens Conner's mood, at least until he gets a text from M'gann: "lurvd piece. sooooooooo proud. 333333 meet me 20k ft in 5 to celebrate? ;*"

And then all he can think is _HELL YEAH!_, because he's been waiting for this since before he got shot.

* * *

Batman invites everyone over to the Manor for Thanksgiving. It seems like half the League is invited, and there are even people he doesn't know yet, like Wally's aunt, and parents, and an old guy who was apparently the first Flash. Green Arrow and Black Canary, and Roy and Artemis are there too. So is Kaldur, though not Aquaman. Apparently the whole experience is as new to Kaldur as it is to Conner, and Roy keeps explaining things about turkeys and Native Americans and Pilgrims, and about some guy named Squanto.

"Tell him about Squanto," Roy tells him, and Conner can't help but lapse into Wikipedia mode. It's the first time it's happened since he was shot, and it turns into something of a game at his expense. Even Lois joins in. Squanto, Pocahontas, John Smith, John Rolfe, Disney, Mickey Mouse, and so on and so forth, like a twisted game of free association until Batman cuts them off with a glare.

The food is great: Martha and Alfred both put on a feast, so there's more than enough food to go around. Clark, frankly speaking, looks like he's in heaven.

* * *

The feast goes on into the early hours. Alfred insists everyone stay the night, even over Batman's protests, and that's how Conner finds himself sleeping in the Blue Room once more.

He gets up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. As he's fumbling through the hall, looking for a bathroom, he hears the now-familiar beeping of Batman's watch. He pauses for a moment and listens. He's right by Batman's door. He hears

Batman get out of bed. Hears the click of a light switch, and then the slide of a drawer. He waits for Batman to get back in bed, but instead the door swings open and Batman grabs him tightly by the throat and squeezes hard enough to cut off the bloodflow to his brain. "Are you spying on me?" Batman snarls.

The difference between Conner and Clark—one of many—is that Conner actually needs oxygen to live. He clutches at the air.

It seems like Batman recognizes him. He lets him go.

"Conner, oh God. I'm sorry," Bruce apologizes.

"What are you hiding?" Conner asks, gasping for breath.

Bruce's face hardens. "Nothing. I'm sorry I startled you. Good night." And then he shuts the bedroom door in Connor's face and locks the door.

* * *

At first light, Conner excuses himself and returns to Smallville. He tells Martha and Jonathan that he needs to work on his applications. Technically it's true. Princeton recommends that everything be submitted before December 15, and that's only a couple of weeks away.

Bruce shows up in the mid afternoon and asks Conner if he won't go with him for a walk.

"About last night," he starts, "I'm really, really sorry. I had a run in with Scarecrow last week. I guess some of the fear toxin is still in my system, making me paranoid."

"It's ok," Conner says, though he isn't sure it is. Something about Bruce reminds him of what Luthor said about Xanax. But he doesn't want to think about Luthor at all.

"So, you're not hiding anything?"

"Conner," Bruce laughs, "I'm Batman. I'm hiding a lot of things." Then he ruffles his Conner's hair. "But nothing you need to worry about, kid."

"And you're not taking the Miraclo anymore, right?" Conner asks.

"I'm not taking Miraclo," Bruce answers.

"Hey, Bruce?"

"That's the first time you've called me that," Bruce says. "At least, when we're alone."

"It's your name, isn't it? I mean, I call Clark Clark."

"Right."

"I was saving this for later, but since you're here, there's something I wanted to show you."

"Well, lead the way."

He takes Bruce to the garage and shows him the giant ebony bat he made. It's a screeching thing, meant to be terrifying because Batman is meant to be terrifying. Bruce doesn't react to it like a man who still has Scarecrow toxin in his system.

"I made this," Conner says.

"Conner, this is amazing," Bruce answers, leaning in to appreciate the detail work. He runs an appreciative finger over the wings and claws.

"Jonathan taught me how to carve. Ebony's hard, though, it took me a while to get the knack for it."

"Have you made other things?" Bruce asks, so Conner shows him the evolution of his carvings, from bowl to bat.

"This is absolutely brilliant. I'm so proud of you. You should send pictures with your college applications. I'm sure the college admissions people will like them."

"Thanks."

* * *

It's December 15. Conner, Clark, Lois, M'gann, Martha, Jonathan, Robin, and Bruce have all read his college applications over about a million times. He prints them all out, puts them in their envelopes, and has them bundled by 3 PM.

It's snowing. Clark and Lois are busy covering something, and the rest of the Team is all at school, so Jonathan and Martha drive him to the post office. The line is long, but not as long as he had expected.

Jonathan puts a steady hand on his shoulder as he hands over the bundle of application packages to the teller.

"Getting them in early?" the lady asks with a wink. "How responsible."

"It's the recommended date," he tells her.

"Yeah. But most people wait until the absolute last moment."

"I couldn't do that."

"Because you're smart. This way, you get to celebrate on New Year's the way you'd want to."

Conner had been planning on sending the applications through regular mail, but Jonathan insists on sending them priority so they can track them and make sure everything gets where it's supposed to be. It's about six times more expensive that way, but Jonathan insists.

The lady at the counter prints out his receipt, stamps all the envelopes, and then she asks him if he wants to buy stamps. He shakes his head and Jonathan pays with cash.

They're already on their way out when the clerk calls out after him.

"Yeah?"

"Here, for luck," she tells him, holding up a chocolate Tootsie Pop.

"Thanks!" It's his favorite flavor.

* * *

Afterwards, since they're already in town, Jonathan and Martha take him Christmas shopping. He's already made gifts for everyone, but Jonathan and Martha still have shopping left to do. He talks Jonathan into buying a scarf for Clark, and Martha out of buying a hat for Lois.

"It'd probably get lost the next time she fell off a building," he says.

There's a fancy café in the department store. Not Bruce Wayne fancy, or even Lois Lane fancy, but Normal-People-Like-the-Kents fancy. The three of them get hot chocolate. Conner asks for a mountain of whipped cream, and he even gets a cherry on top.

"Only because you just sent out your college apps, am I understood young man?" Martha scolds, but he just dives straight in to the chocolate and winds up with a whipped cream mustache that he licks off.

"So what do you want for Christmas, son?" Jonathan asks.

Conner shrugs. "For everyone to be happy. I've got pretty much all I need."

"Oh nonsense boy," Martha says. "We want to know what you want, not what you need."

"Well," Conner starts, unsure, "there is one thing."

"Oh?"

He looks at Martha. "Clark says you helped him design his costume."

"If by help, you mean she made the whole darn thing. At least, the first one."

"Well… before… you know, my surgery, Lois and I had talked about how I can't be Superboy forever. You know, I can't be a forty year old man with a beard calling myself Superboy. And I was thinking, I haven't been allowed to wear a cape since the surgery. I guess I'm going to start up again sometime after New Years. I think it'd be a good time to start using the new persona.

"I was thinking of using just, Kr—

"The periodic table sign for Krypton?" Jonathan asks.

Conner nods. "It was the first name anyone bothered to give me. Project Kr. That's what Cadmus called me. It's not much of a name, but better than 'weapon' or 'the superboy.'"

"I don't understand," Martha says, "If that's the name those horrible people gave you, why do you want it?"

"Because… they wanted to make me because they wanted a weapon. They wanted me to be Superman's clone, at their beck and call to take down Superman if they needed me to. But that's not who I am. I'm me. I get to pick who I am. I get to pick the meaning of my life, and I want to pick that Kr, my first name, means. And I want it to mean a hero, someone who stands up for truth and justice, and everything else that's good about the world.

"I want to be my own man. But… I'm not very good at costume design." He pulls out a couple of sketches. One is just his Superboy outfit with the letters Kr in place of the S. The other is even worse, since it's pretty much just Clark's outfit. "See?" he asks.

Martha giggles. "Oh dear. I'm afraid that's one are where you take after Clark. Later, I'll have to show you his first design. You know, I had to talk him out of wearing a mullet too."

"A mullet?" Conner asks, incredulous.

"It was the nineties," Jonathan shrugs.

"I'll see what I can come up with between now and Christmas," Martha promises, "But I can't promise a new costume will be ready in ten days."

"That's ok. I don't need it until I start going out again."

"Well, but you know what you do need?"

"What?"

"Something to unwrap come Christmas. So tell us! What do you want?"

"I don't know. A bunch of black t-shirts?"

Martha rolls her eyes. Jonathan smiles. The three of them laugh, and Conner wonders when life got so good.

* * *

If Thanksgiving was lavish, Christmas Eve is intimate. It's just him and the Kents, although, with the amount of food Martha's made, you'd think the entire Justice League is invited.

Both his and Clark's presents are wrapped in lead-lined paper, which Conner thinks is cheating. He gives Martha a jewelry box he made. He gives Jonathan an elaborate picture frame with a picture of the four of them. Clark gets a statue of Jor-El and Lara that makes Clark tear up.

Martha gives him a series of sketches of costume ideas, and they spend several hours as a family arguing about which is best, until they decide on a black and red cape-less suit with the letters Kr on the chest and a small symbol of the House of El on the right arm.

Jonathan's got him a new set of wood carving tools.

They've opened all the presents under the tree, but Conner still hasn't opened his present from Clark. He doesn't want to be rude about it, but Clark sees what's bothering him.

"For Christmas, I wanted to give you something really special. I was wondering, if you're up for it, if you'd like to fly up with me to the Fortress? I can, you know, show you around. And then, I can show you some of the crystals. So you can, sorta get to know my other parents, Jor-el and Lara, and see what Krypton was like, a little."

When they get back, M'gann is waiting for him with a batch of burnt cookies.

It'd be the best Christmas ever if it weren't for the fact that when he wakes up in the morning, there's a new packet wrapped in lead under the Christmas tree.

Rather than guess that it's a Christmas tradition of some sort, he wakes Clark up. They're about to call in Batman to observe the mysterious package, when suddenly it barks.

"I think there's a dog in there," Conner says.

"Maybe it's an evil robot dog?"

It barks again. "Sounds like a real dog."

It gives one last warning bark, and then yellow liquid begins to seep out of the box.

Clark shouts out a four-letter word and runs to the kitchen for paper towels and Conner unwraps the box.

There's a scrappy, underfed white dog that jumps out at him and starts to lick his face. The poor animal looks like it's been malnourished for weeks.

"Cute dog, but who sent it?" Conner asks, once he finally gets his face back from the dog's licks.

"There's a note," Clark points out. He picks it up and reads it aloud. "Merry Christmas, my boy. For you a friend. He's been at the pound for a few months. Feel free to return him, if you don't like him. Although, if you do that, they'll probably have to put him down in a few weeks."

Clark groans. "You agree that with a message that manipulative, there's pretty much only one person it could be from, right?"

Conner is about to say something, when the dog, maybe sensing the potential danger it's in starts to lick his face again, and Conner can't help but laugh.

"This is a really cute dog."

"Yeah. I guess we'll have to ask Bruce to come over and make sure he's not booby trapped."

"You're not booby trapped, are you, are you boy?" he asks the dog, who just barks happily in return.

"What are you gonna call him?"

Conner looks at the dog, then inspired by last night's trip, he decides: "Krypto." The dog wags his tail and barks. "See? He likes it?" Then, as an afterthought he adds, "You know, he might not have figured out who you are. He does know Clark Kent and I are friends."

"Well, we'll have to proceed to assume the worst-case scenario," he says. "I'll make coffee and call Bruce."

* * *

Since Luthor's figured out he lives with the Kents, Bruce lifts the Metropolis embargo, which means Conner can go to the _Daily Planet_ New Year's party. He's invited as Conner Jones, intern. M'gann is his plus one. Jimmy Olsen sees him and recognizes him. For some reason, he doesn't find Jimmy as annoying as he used to. They catch up. Jimmy asks how he's feeling, and he tells him he's much better. Almost entirely better.

"I'm so glad. CK and Lois took it real hard, you know, when you got shot. I was surprised CK still went ahead and went to the Middle East. But, you know, he's been doing some really, really great work."

"Yeah." Conner agrees. Olsen doesn't know the half of it.

"Though, you know, he was home in Smallville for Christmas, and he's stopped by for the party tonight. I just saw him. He's somewhere over there," Jimmy points to the crowd, "if you want to say hi."

"Thanks."

* * *

Perry White has had a little too much to drink. He's going on and on about Elvis, and about how Elvis is the greatest musical genius of all time, and about how he isn't dead, just hiding. He's in the middle of explaining it, actually, just how Elvis has managed to stay alive all these years without anyone knowing about it, when he's interrupted by the countdown.

Conner wants to go find M'gann, to give her a New Year's kiss, but he can't get away from Perry, who is just going on and on about Elvis, even through the countdown, until it's too late. The count down is over, it's the new year, and Perry—

"Fuck." Perry says out of the blue.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm pretty sure I just lost the best damn war correspondent I ever had." He buries his face into his hand and points with the other.

Conner turns around to follow Perry's hand and sees Lois, who looks like she's a little more than a little drunk, shoving her tongue down Clark's throat.

"I need a drink," Perry says miserably. "You want one kid?"

"I'm not old enough to drink," Conner confesses. "Besides, I have to find my girlfriend so I can go do to her what Lois is doing to Clark."

Somehow, Conner just knows it's going to be a _very_ good year.

**The End.**

**(For Now.)**


End file.
